


People as Places as People

by USSFriendship



Category: Daredevil (TV), Hawkeye (Comics), Jessica Jones (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Catholic Steve Rogers, Clint Barton is a Patient Man, Dumpster Clint Barton, Dumpster Matt Murdock, Getting Together, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jessica Jones is a Good Bro, M/M, Matt Murdock is Overwhelmed, Meet Stupid, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Polyamory Negotiations, Steve Rogers has no chill, Steve Rogers is hella gay, author picks and chooses canon at will, meet awful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:15:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 43,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28178970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/USSFriendship/pseuds/USSFriendship
Summary: Steve and Clint are the resident Old Married Couple of the Avengers, and after a particularly brutal mission, Steve has something of a crisis of faith. Wanting to do something to help his boyfriend, Clint introduces him to his friend, sometimes coworker, and the only other practicing catholic he knows: Matt Murdock.As their friendship grows from awkward post-church lunches into something more, both Steve and Clint have to contend with the changing nature of their relationships, not only with the Devil of Hell's kitchen, but with the man they've come to realize they want to be more than just a friend.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Matt Murdock, Clint Barton/Steve Rogers, Matt Murdock/Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers/Clint Barton/Matt Murdock
Comments: 7
Kudos: 36
Collections: Marvel Big Bang 2020





	1. Hard to Get Hold of

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FadedSepia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FadedSepia/gifts).



> Make sure you check out the incredible [art Not-The-Blue did](https://not-the-blue.tumblr.com/post/638057739624579072/marvel-big-bang-art-for-this-amazing-fic-link) for this fic!
> 
> This started as a stupid little blip to cheer up a friend, so blame [Dr. Sep](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FadedSepia) for this rampaging inferno on a garbage barge.

Maria Hill is many things, but the bearer of good news is rarely one of them; this is no exception. She ponders that as she makes her way through Avengers Tower wearing jeans, a very old Led Zeppelin t-shirt - that looks suspiciously like the one Tony has been bitching about missing for the last month - and an impressively beat up pair of formerly bright red Chuck Taylors. _Casual_. Well, except for the ominous black file folder she’s holding. She isn’t wearing her SHEILD uniform, so she obviously isn’t here as Deputy Director Hill, and she is carrying a packet that all but has “BAD NEWS” stamped across it, so she isn’t here as Mar, and...this isn’t going to go well.

She walks into the gym, and finds Clint right where Natasha had said he would be: sparring with Steve. She hangs back against the wall, letting them do their thing, knowing full well they both know she is here, and that they’ll let her know they are ready. 

Considering what she knows she’s about to dump on them, she can give them that. 

It only takes another couple of minutes before they wrap up their fight and wander towards her, only stopping to grab water. 

“Hey, sis. Runnin’ errands for gramps?” Clint asks. It isn’t code; he’s being a shit. 

Fair enough, she’s not here about anything good and he knows it. In fact, she is about to reopen channels they’d all rather have kept closed. Still, she is here for a reason, so Maria raises her hand a bit to show them the file she’s holding.

“Great. Old school spy shit,” he comments blandly before nodding at Steve, “Eyes, or is he ok?”

She adjusts her hands to reveal a second folder. The dramatics are unnecessary, but she’s having a bit of fun while she still can. 

“Nice,” Clint says, “you gonna give the files and tell me what’s going on, or are you gonna keep doing the weird Vanna bit?”

She turns her hand to show them the names on the files, heavily lettered in black: RONIN and NOMAD.

“Fuck, Mar,” It sounds almost like pleading, but Clint stops and takes a beat to steel himself. He closes his eyes, and a second later he’s standing up straighter, jaw set, and his eyes are just...empty. “Okay. The Dancer?”

“She told me where you’d be, and to tell you she’d start load out,” Maria answers.

“Alright. Time?”

Maria actually grimaces. “Out at 1900. You’ve got a little over two hours.”

Clint nods, face entirely neutral. “Anything specific, or is it in the files?”

“Everything but kit, and…” she trails off, when Clint nods.

“Yeah, got it. We’re our own,” he sighs, “anything else?”

“Fury really hates it when you call him Gramps,” she answers with a small smile. 

“Eh, he started it when he decided Coulson was ‘Dad’,” Clint answers with a shrug.

“You are all very strange,” Steve comments idly.

She presses the NOMAD folder against his chest. 

“ _We_ are all very strange,” he corrects.

Maria nods at that, and heads towards the door. Yes, she should probably say goodbye or _something_ , but...Ronin creeps her out. It isn’t that she doesn’t like working with Barton; the opposite, in fact. He is one of a very select few she trusted explicitly and entirely, and he’s become one of her favorite people over the years. There is just something _off_ about about Ronin, she feels weird talking about it like they’re separate people, but... as soon he sees the call sign, something changes. Everything that makes Clint _Clint_ just disappears, and saying that it feels like he’s been stripped of his humanity is so dramatic, but it also isn’t inaccurate. In the end, it doesn’t matter, because they all signed up for this, and they all have jobs to do.

Clint and Steve go straight from the gym to the armory to meet Nat, who gets them up to speed. The mission is ugly and brutal, and the time frame is vague, but they know their jobs and they know what’s riding on it, so they get to work. 

* * *

Work ends up lasting nearly five weeks, drags them all over the world, and is...worse than Clint had expected when Hill had shown up. They took out a particularly nasty AIM offshoot that had been conducting experiments on people, and it had just been brutal and bloody and there’d been _kids_ at one of the facilities. Shit like this is always bad, but it gets exponentially worse when there are kids involved. They’ve finally made it home, but Clint, Steve, and Natasha know they need a couple of days to really leave the mission behind, so - after letting Hill know they are back on home soil but are staying off the roster for a while - they head for Clint’s place Brooklyn. 

Nat pushes her way into the apartment first, but all three make a beeline toward the bathroom; a surprisingly lavish space that doesn’t fit at all with the rest of the apartment or even the building it’s in, which is utilitarian but sturdy. 

Clint trails after the other two and leans against the door jam for a couple of beats, just watching them as they start washing up. That’s their name for the routine, the post-mission ritual: washing up. All three strip down and check each other over, bandage up anything that needs it, then get clean. It’s something that started almost twenty years ago when Clint brought Nat in, back when she hadn’t believed he wouldn’t leave her, so he made a point of not leaving her sight. It had grown a bit, and changed a lot over the years. Partly due to the fact that the showers now involve a whole lot of very fancy and stupid-expensive bath products courtesy of Tony Stark - ridiculous shit, though smelling like pears and chamomile goes a long way in helping him distance himself from the mission and clear out Ronin - but, mostly, the difference is that there is a Steve here now. If he was capable of sentiment at the moment, he might be a little choked up at how seamlessly Steve fits in. 

When Clint had explained the post-mission ritual back when they first got together, nearly six years ago now, Steve had just nodded, “Washing up. Got it.” He hadn’t batted an eyelash at the fact that Nat would be there, though he made sure to ask her directly if it was ok with her. After the first Ronin and Tiny Dancer mission, Steve had stepped in and helped them get settled, even though he hadn’t gone with them, and didn’t know yet how rough those were, and it felt...right. More so after he got his own off the books code name.

* * *

The washing up goes quickly, and Natasha hops out of the shower and into her sweats in record time, trying to miss the newest installment in the _Post Mission Beard Discussion_ that crops up any time Steve is out of the Captain America cowl long enough to grow facial hair, where Steve desperately tries to convince Clint to keep his facial hair, and Clint begs Steve to shave his off. It’s funny, but it happens often, and always ends the same way. 

Fifteen minutes later, a damp but clean-shaven Clint shuffles out of the bathroom, dressed only in a pair of ancient, threadbare sweatpants and some bruises. Natasha is curled up on the couch, positively drowning in another set of his ratty sweatpants and one of Steve’s sweatshirts with the hood pulled up to cover her still damp hair. Steve - with a neatly trimmed beard - steps out of the bathroom a few seconds later, looking clean and warm and dry, already in his comfy clothes, despite the fact that he and Clint had gotten out of the shower together. 

“How are you already dry? Are you a wizard or something?”

“Clint,” it is more a sigh than a word. “I used a towel, like a normal human being.”

“You know,” Natasha starts, not wanting to witness another boring, low-grade domestic argument between her two favorite blonde idiots, “you really are just a very large feral child. Now, leave your ridiculous boytoy alone and sit the hell down.”

Clint just shrugs at that. “Can’t. Twitchy.”

Almost as soon as the words leave his mouth, he finds himself being dragged into Steve’s arms. That in and of itself is strange, but the way Clint seems to melt as soon as he has Steve to hold him up is something major; something wrong.

“I know, but you have to settle.” Steve presses a kiss to the top of Clint’s head, and if there was ever a sign that his boyfriend is out of sorts, it’s the fact that Steve’s bigger-than-him boyfriend has hunched over enough that he can reach.

“Hey,” Clint mumbles into Steve’s sweatshirt, “at least I _can be_ twitchy now. Progress.”

Clint has a point, and Steve knows it. For the last five weeks, his boyfriend has been in mission mode - in _Ronin_ mode - where he was _ON_ all the time.

“Also means you can relax now,” Steve presses another kiss to Clint’s forehead before unceremoniously shoving him down on the couch. “I’ll get us drinks; you sit. Nat’s gonna need a pillow. She’s going to read to us while I do her toes.”

“Oh, I am?” Natasha asks pointedly. 

Steve fishes through the drawer in the end table, pulling out an absolutely battered copy of _Black Beauty_ and tosses it to her, “you are unless you want to unravel those sweatpants you keep picking at.”

“You are getting more observant,” Nat comments, gripping the book, “I don’t like it. You can stop doing that any time.”

Steve works on drinks while Nat rifles through the little box Steve uses as his nail kit to pick out which polish she wants, and before long they are all crammed on the couch, Clint playing with Nat’s hair as she reads to them while Steve paints her nails. This is just as much a part of the post mission routine now as the washing up, and none of them would change it. It is peaceful and relaxing, and Steve has even given in and broken out some of the Asgardian Meade Thor’s given him. 

Eventually, though, they get to the end of their drinks and refill them, and after that happens a couple of times, they make it to the end of the book. It isn’t early, but none of them are ready to sleep, so they chat about nothing for a bit; at least until it just sorta turns into the most depressing game of truth or dare ever. At some point, the conversation devolves into horror shows from missions past; terrible things people have done to each other, terrible things they have done to the world, and… Steve just sorta crumbles.

“Not that it’s ever _easy_ , I don’t want that, anyway,” Steve sighs, “it was just _easier_ to deal with or get over or whatever when there was someone to talk to. And all those poor Army chaplains and all. It wasn’t like they weren’t right there, livin’ through it with us. Then they had to do it again, hearing about it from someone else’s perspective. I can’t imagine what kin’a hell that is, but I do know that they signed up for it. They knew what they were getting into.” He sighs and shakes his head a little, “I know I can talk to you two, Bucky, whatever, about it, but you’re too close. I guess I just miss confession, but… I can’t put this on someone. That’s not fair and it sure as hell ain’t kind.”

On the other end of the couch, Clint makes a vague humming noise and pushes himself to his feet. “You know what,” he says absently, and mostly to himself, “I know a guy. Hold on.” He isn’t hurrying, but before either Nat or Steve can question him, he’s out of the room.

He walks back in a minute or so later, talking to someone on video chat. “Yeah, that works. We’re half drunk and all miserable, and you know the saying.”

Clint’s quiet for a few seconds, staring intently at the screen, and Steve slowly figures out that the person he’s talking to must be signing. He is about to ask what was going on, when Clint starts talking again, “‘k. See you then.”

Clint hangs up the call and drops the phone on the coffee table before flopping back onto the couch. “The pep squad will be here in fifteen, hopefully with pizza.”

Nat groans as she’s jostled by Clint. “I mean,” she drawls, “good call, he can probably help solve Steve’s problem, but...”

Steve’s eyes flick between the two of them. “Should I be worried?” 

Clint chuckles, and it is a genuinely happy sound. “Oh, no doubt. My… colleagues - from my side job? - Jessica and Matt, are, well, a whole fucking lot to try and explain when drunk, but I - you know - like them. And I trust them. And, Nat’s right; I think Matt can help you with your crisis of faith or whatever.” He snickers to himself before adding, “he knows a guy.”

Nat flings a piece of cotton at him. “I know you think you are making it sound like he knows God, but you just sound drunk.”

“I smudged your polish,” Steve comments idly as he looks at the hand Nat has resting on his bicep. “And I’m out of topcoat. The CVS is 24 hour… I’ll, uh, go get more.”

It isn’t the most elegant excuse, but it conveys the basics: Steve is fine, but he needs a minute. The other two can give him that, even if they aren’t clear on why he needs it. 

“Ok,” Nat says easily, “maybe some new sparkles, if you see anything interesting.”

“There cannot be a color you don’t own, demon woman,” Clint grouches, then looks to Steve, “please bring back junk food? Preferably something covered in waxy chocolate and full of gritty cream.”

Steve smiles softly at them and pushes himself off the couch, grateful for their understanding, and glad for the opportunity to get the hell out of here for a few minutes. He quickly trundles up the stairs to the bedroom to change, coming back down several minutes later wearing jeans and a flannel. 

“You must be pretty drunk. You didn’t even tuck in your plaid,” Clint comments. “Looks way better.”

Something about what Clint said or how he said it hits Steve just wrong and he tugs at his shirt. “Do I look too drunk?”

“Steve,” Natasha snorted, “you are going to the drug store at oh-two-thirty on a Monday. No one expects you to be sober.”

“What?”

“Nat, stop; Steve,” Clint pushes off the couch and pads over to give his boyfriend a kiss, “you’re fine. Now go if you wanna be back before the dumpster twins get here.”

“You really want crappy cookies, don’t you?” Steve asks, smiling at Clint.

“Yes, now go.”

* * *

Steve makes pretty good time, but he hears extra voices in the apartment when he returns. “Damn,” he mumbles to himself as he pushes the door open. Before he has a chance to say he’s home, he gets hit in the face with something that feels a whole lot like a sledgehammer. “What the fuck?”

“Shit!” It is the closest he gets to an answer before he's hit again, this time squarely on the nose.

“Jessica! Stop!”

Steve doesn’t recognize the voice, but he doesn’t get hit a third time, so he figures he’s safe to open his eyes now. A slight woman with deep brown hair and one of the meanest expressions he’s ever seen on an actual person’s face is glaring at him with her fists cocked. “Sorry, ma’am, your knuckles are bleeding.”

“Jessica,” Clint’s voice cuts in, cheerful as ever, “this is my boyfriend and sometimes coworker, Steve. Steve, this is my friend and sometimes coworker, Jessica.”

“Damn it, Jess,” hisses the man - the absolutely _gorgeous_ man, _holy shit_ \- sitting at their kitchen counter.

Natasha snorts a laugh, “You finally found a disguise that works, Steve! Good for you!”

The woman - _Jessica_ \- drops her fists and cocks her head, looking almost disappointed. “The burgling hipster is Captain America?”

“The burgling hipster is bleeding on his favorite shirt,” Steve answers, “if I could just, uh, get inside?”

“What?” Jess gawks up at the very large man she just decked, blinking before everything seems to click into place. “Fucking shit, I hit you. _Twice.”_

“Oh, yeah,” he chuckles with a nod, “ you aren’t even the first person in this room to hit me today….well, in the last 24 hours. I’m Steve, let’s get your hand cleaned up?”

“Huh? Oh.” She tugs her hand in her sleeve to cover her knuckles while she steps to the side to let Steve enter his apartment, “my hands were fucked up before we got here...sorry about your, uh, face.”

“No harm, no foul,” Steve shrugs, moving into the kitchen to set his bag on the counter. He gives Clint a quick kiss on the cheek and walks over to the sink and crouches down to root around in the cabinet underneath. A couple seconds later he stands up holding one of the largest first aid kits Jessica had ever seen, “and your knuckles still should be cleaned and wrapped.”

“She hit you, and you are going to bandage her hand,” the man - _this must be Matt_ , Steve’s brain helpfully supplies - says slowly. 

“I mean, I have to get the kit out, anyway,” Steve shrugs. 

“Steve,” Clint says, shoving Steve aside and rifling through the supply box looking for something specific. He holds up a small packet, about the size of a matchbook, grabs a new bottle of water off the counter, and shoves both against Steve’s chest, “you are bleeding on everything. Go upstairs, use the Neti pot, and change into something less gross. I’ll tend to Jess, and probably Matt, and then we can get to actual introductions and the pizza.”

As soon as Steve is up the stairs Matt asks, “So, did he really just get his nose broken and then apologize for hurting the person who hit him?”

“First,” Clint says, and it isn’t a warning, but there is an edge to it, “just assume he can hear everything we’re saying. Sec-“

“What was that,” Natasha cuts him off. She looks between Jess and Matt “That look?”

Jess hooks a thumb at Matt. “Same here. This one hears everything.”

Clint rolls his eyes. “Cool your jets, Tash. Second, yeah, he did. Most people end up with broken bones when they hit Steve, not the other way around. The fact that you got him twice, Jess, with two solid hits, _and_ were mostly undamaged? Yeah, he’s just impressed. No lie; I am too. You even got the drop on him, and right now? I didn’t think it was possible.”

“That sounds ominous _and_ tragic,” Jessica says, somewhere between a huff and a groan.

“You have no idea,” Nat chuckles. “Ok, Jessica, let Clint look at your hands while I take a look at Matt’s side.”

“No, I’m good,” Matt protests. “It’s fine.”

“You know _we aren’t_ blind, right?” Natasha asks, sounding mildly irritated. “I can see how much that cut on your side is bleeding. Let me take a look at it.”

“Yeah, Matty,” Jess encouraged, “if I can let Big Bird work on my hands, you can let the scary lady give you some butterfly stitches.”

Matt is pretty sure it will require actual stitches, but he doesn’t say that. Instead he nods and starts unbuttoning his shirt. 

“None of us is new at this,” the Black Widow says, sounding _bored_ , “undershirt, too. You’ve got at least a bruised rib. It’ll just be easier if you take it off.”

“Be nice, devil woman,” Clint says affectionately as he rinses Jessica’s hand. “Damn. She’s spent the last while doing this for me. And Steve, who’s actually worse. She has forgotten that normal people think she’s terrifying.”

Nat snorts inelegantly at that from where she’s crouched at Matt’s side, looking at a pretty nasty gash. “I know enough to know that this is not normal, just maybe closer than we usually are. And yeah, this is going to need actual stitches. I’m going to get it cleaned up and then hand you off to Clint or Steve for the rest. They’re better at it than I am. More practice.” She pauses for a minute, and turns to ask Clint, “are you sober enough for stitches?”

“In that general vicinity, yeah. More sober than your hip, less than your calf.”

“Hey, Hawkguy,” Jessica snaps, “if you were going for reassuring, you missed. But you hit ‘fucking creepy’ dead on.”

He just shrugs, squeezing some ointment on a cotton swab he then rubs across her knuckles. 

“Holy shit, that feels amazing,” Jess comments, sounding far less aggressive than she just had.

“Well, we’ve got the good stuff,” Clint explains. “You never want to come back to the tower, and you say this place is too far, but you’ve been missing out. Cap-strength topical analgesic. You can take the tube if you want, we’ve got more.”

Jess starts to answer, but is cut off by Steve Rogers stomping into the room and making a sound that is part gasp, part cough and part choke, staring open mouthed at Matt. 

“What the fu-“ Clint says as he whirls around and catches a glimpse of his boyfriend. His boyfriend that is nothing short of gawping at their guest; the one currently having a wound cleaned and stitched. He looks a little harder and - realizing that if Steve were a cartoon, he’d have little hearts floating around his head - Clint can’t help but laugh. There is nothing else to do because this is hilarious. “Fuck’s sake, Stevie, you are somethin’ else. Go grab something soft and warm for them to wear while we eat, then come refill drinks or something. Weirdo.”

Steve nods dumbly and heads back upstairs. 

“I’m sorry about my, uh, that,” Clint chuckles . “He possesses all the subtlety of a foghorn. He’s just overwhelmed.”

Jessica narrows her eyes at him. “He got all weird when he saw how bad Matt’s side is. If he doesn’t want us here, we’re gone.”

Clint sighs as he wraps a bright purple bandage around her hand. “It’s not that. I promise; it isn’t that.”

“Honestly,” Natasha says slowly, “ _this_ probably helps right now. This is a routine he knows. Clint’s right, it isn’t that.”

“Okay,” Clint says, “you’re good for now. Make yourself comfortable Jess, and Matt, I’ll be back to stitch you up in a bit. I need to go… clean up a mess.”

At Matt’s side, Natasha Romanoff _giggles_. “You can laugh,” she says to Matt, who looks genuinely surprised as she continues, “they are ridiculous.”

* * *

Clint finds Steve rifling through a drawer in their bedroom.

“Hey,” he greets absently, “what size-“

“Stop; you are being a creep,” Clint sighs. “As funny as this will be later, it’s awkward now.”

“Holy shit, Clint, I can’t help it,” Steve says in the loudest whisper that has ever existed, “have you _seen_ him? I want one.”

“No shit. Also, no more time withTony for a while,” Clint hisses, switching to sign, /HE CAN HEAR YOU/

Steve just grins and gives him a shrug. 

“You are a shit, Steven Grant,” Clint says. “Tony sized for Jess and Bucky for Matt. Hurry up, and don’t be weird.”

“You know that won’t happen.” Steve’s just aggravated by that; Clint knows better, and has likely just jinxed him.

“Ah, but a man can hope,” Clint replies as he trundles down the stairs. The first thing he sees is Matt Murdock, shirtless and bloody in his kitchen, blushing from his hairline to chest. Ok, so, he heard. “Ah, so is the blushing an Irish thing, or what? Steve does that, too. It’s actually pretty funny.” He laughs a little, then straights up a bit, “but - seriously - if it’s a problem, I’ll just lock him up there until you leave.”

“No, it’s, uh,” Matt stammers for a bit, “it’s _unexpected_ , is all.” He pauses and gives a half smile before he tacks on, “one hell of a compliment, though.”

“Wait, what?” Jessica asks, looking between the two men. “What did I miss?”

“Nothing,” Clint says honestly, “Steve just can’t be nice without being creepy.”

“He really can’t,” Natasha confirms, before standing up and addressing Matt, “the wound is cleaned out, which is as far as I’m gonna go. So, hang out there and the doctor will be with you shortly. Jessica and I are going to refresh our drinks.”

“I’m the one they call Dr. Feelgood,” Clint says cheekily as he washes his hands at the sink. 

“You’re gonna be Matt’s Frankenstein?” Jess asks.

“No, but if he asks nicely I will make him feel alright.” Clint ups the ridiculousness with a lascivious eyebrow waggle, but sobers quickly. “Even if you don’t, I’m still gonna numb you up, though. So…” He shrugs. 

Clint definitely didn’t miss the way Matt’s hand twitched or the way Jessica whipped her head around to watch Matt as he spoke. “I got it, Tash,” he says preemptively. “Will you glove me up?” he asks, holding his hands out to Natasha.

She, however, is still looking from Matt to Jess. “So, are we going to pretend nothing weird happened there? Because we can, but I’d rather not.”

“I am not the best with drugs,” Matt says.

“Whoa, I’m not giving morphine or anything,” Clint starts.

“Matt says that novocaine makes the air taste fuzzy,” blurts Jessica. 

Nat finishes tugging on Clint’s gloves and turns to Matt. “That sounds unpleasant. Alcohol will help.” 

“Alcohol will help with what?” Steve asks as he comes down the stairs. “And, here, Jessica -” He hands her a wad of clothes - “so you don’t have to stay in your fight clothes. Matt, I’m going to put yours here on the counter for when you're done.”

“Well done, Steve.” Clint turns his face to Steve for a quick kiss. “That wasn’t creepy _or_ weird. I’m so proud.”

“Gee, thanks,” Steve replies. “I’m so lucky. You need anything, or can I get started on fixing Nat’s nails?”

“If you could drag one of the kitchen chairs over,” Clint says absently as he bends to inspect Matt’s injury, “I’m too old to kneel on hardwood for that long.”

Steve does as asked, but no one says anything for a long beat.

“Oh, come on,” Clint grouses, “no one? There’s an old joke and a blow job joke in there. _And,_ I said ‘hardwood.’ Nothing? Really?”

“You know,” Nat drawls carefully, “remember when you were confused about how you could be the hottest Avenger, but not anyone’s favorite Avenger? That is why.”

“Aw,” Steve said, “Clint is _my_ favorite.”

“I am not even your favorite _in this room_.”

“Captain America is super fucking gay,” Jess says, seemingly apropos nothing.

“He really, really is,” Clint agrees as he sits down and gets himself situated, “on a related note, and not that I mind, Matt, but there are easier ways to get my hands on you, if that’s what you were after.”

“Fuck’s sake, Clint,” Steve exclaims, “that was heavy handed, even for you. And how can I be ‘super fucking gay?’ I’m just gay. That’s it.”

“Sure, sure,” Clint says absently to Steve, before focusing on Matt, “I’m gonna put the numbing stuff on now, if that’s ok? We can not, if you want, but that sucks.”

“No,” Matt says, and he sounds exhausted, “it will be fine.”

“More stupid expensive booze will help,” Jess says, and moves to refil Matt’s glass.

“Stupid expensive?” Matt isn’t sure if that is by Jessica’s standards or in general, but he can’t picture Clint or Steve being the kind to have pricey liquor.

“Clint stole it from Tony,” Natasha explains as she carries drinks for her and Steve over to the couch. 

“I did not _steal_ it, and you know that,” Clint answers. “I _won_ it from Tony.”

“You grabbed it out of a false bottom drawer in a locked toolbox in a sealed and alarmed lab,” Steve quips. “How is that not stealing?”

“I was testing his security,” Clint says smugly. “If I can get it out without getting caught, it’s mine.”

“What happens if you get caught?” Matt asks.

“You’re the lawyer, so…" Clint drawls with a shrug, which somehow makes it more terrifying. "What happens if I get caught breaking into a secure facility in Avengers Tower to steal scotch that is worth more than most cars?” 

“Uh…” Matt genuinely has no idea what to say to that. 

Luckily for him, Nat jumps in to change the subject, “Steve, you smudged my toes. You need to fix them instead of being awkward in the kitchen.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Steve says dutifully, but he tosses a long glance at Matt as he makes his way to Nat.

“I’m, uh, gonna change in the kitchen,” Jess says awkwardly, pointing behind the island. “You good, Matty?”

“Rarely,” Matt answers.

“Aw, I doubt that,” Clint says, “I’m gonna start poking now, so, y’know.”

Sure enough, Matt’s tongue tastes like fleece as soon as the needle pierces his skin. “Mm-nah. Sorry. That is weird. It… I didn’t notice it until you stabbed me.”

Jessica yanks her borrowed hoodie over her head and turns to Matt. “You ok?”

“Yeah, Clint’s good at this. Mostly surprised by the numbing stuff,” Matt answers. “It doesn’t hurt and I’m not dizzy.”

“That’s…” Clint looks for the right word, “concerning. I feel like I should be concerned.”

“No,” Matt sighs, “whatever it was that left me blind heightened my other senses. It is great when everything is working right, but gets weird when it’s not.”

Jess downs her drink and squints across the room at the Black Widow sitting against the arm of the sofa with her feet in Captain America’s lap while he paints her toenails. 

“Is he… I thought that was a joke or something.”

“No, he really does her nails,” Clint answers.

 _“Exclusively._ ” Nat grins at her. "Pepper, too."

“Tony Stark needed a hug, so he built a spa in a spare corner of his _tower_ ,” Clint explains, “and now Captain America is the official Avenger’s nail technician.”

Matt takes a long pull from his drink. “I _dare_ you to make less sense.”

“Ooh, Matty’s getting spicy.” Jess snorts.

“Did that really make any sense to you?” Matt asks her.

“It does, and that’s weird, I’ll grant you," she counters, "but so is ‘robitussin makes Matt hear purple.’ Especially when Matt can’t even _see_ purple.”

“Fair point well made, Ms. Jones,” Matt acquiesces.

“Aw,” Steve says, “they’re like an adorable version of you two.”

Nat lightly jabs her heel into Steve’s thigh. “Hey, we _are_ adorable.”

“Pretty cute, at least,” Clint agrees.

“Like the twins from The Shining,” Jess says agreeably as she crosses the room and drops into a truly hideous but incredibly comfortable recliner.

That gets a small laugh, which is a testament to how exhausted they all are. 

“You two -” Steve waives a bottle of nail polish from Clint to Nat. “- make those creepy little girls look cuddly.”

Jessica chuckles, then looks at Steve before asking, “hey, why’d you let me hit you?” She pauses and adds, “twice?”

“Hey Jess,” Clint answers in his stead, “why’d you hit him? Twice?”

“I thought… a huge hipster was breaking into your place.” She sounds a little lost. “You _never_ lock your doors, and hipsters can smell unlocked doors.” Jessica fidgets in her chair a bit. “I was just trying to stop Clint from giving away everything he owns to some hipster thief because he thinks the guy needs it more than him.” 

“That’s the first hit,” Nat comments idly, “why’d you hit him the second time?”

That gets a snort from Matt, which earns _him_ a glare from Jessica.

“Anyone that is still standing after a hit from me _definitely_ needs to be hit again.”

“Good girl,” Nat murmurs, and it feels like she is both bestowing an honor and _honing a blade_. 

“Why’d you think I was breaking in?” Steve sounds so earnestly curious, and it is either endearing or infuriating; Jess isn’t sure which.

“...” Jess just blinks at that. “It’s not like I actually _knew_ what you looked like out of the onesie, but I was reasonably sure it wasn’t like a Brooklyn hipster. Obviously, I was wrong.”

“See, Steve? You should definitely shave the beard,” Clint says as he finishes Matt’s stitches. “‘K, those are done. I’m gonna cover it in goop and stick a bandage on it, and then you’ll be good to go.”

“That was fast,” Matt comments, feeling around the wound, “you did a good job.”

Clint shrugs and squeezes some antiseptic on a piece of gauze, “I’ve got lotsa practice. ….and, yer done. Yay. Comfy clothes and pizza.”

“You’re already wearing comfy clothes,” Steve points out. 

“Only kinda,” Jess answers. “He’s not wearing a shirt.”

“Also known as the comfiest kind of shirt!” It is almost a point of pride, the way he says it.

“Clint is only dressed at all because you are here,” Natasha admits to Jess and Matt. 

“He’s basically a nudist.”

“I am not,” Clint pouts. “C’mon, Tash. I’m tryin’a be cool in front of the new kids. Also, not a nudist - I have a very strict ‘no bare asses on the furniture’ policy.”

“That is…” Matt starts, but trails off for a bit, “good to know.”

“That said,” Clint continues, “you might wanna knock before you bust in, or you’re likely to find me in my skivvies.” He pauses for a bit and chuckles to himself. “Or not, if that’s what yer into.”

Jess nods. “Door closed; pants off dance-off. Got it.”

“Uh-huh, sure,” Matt says as he starts to undo his belt. He should probably go to the bathroom to change, but he’s already half undressed, and, even though it is only about ten feet away, he is exhausted and it feels like miles. “I am just going to...yeah.”

Matt is stuck somewhere between overwhelmed and confused, and that is on top of being bone-weary and recently minorly stabbed, so he isn't thinking about the conversation he overheard earlier between Steve and Clint. He _is_ thinking it won’t be an issue - his stripping out of his dirty suit and pulling on the clean and soft clothes Steve’s set on the counter for him a few minutes ago - especially not given the current conversation. It hadn’t been an issue when Jess did it, even. So, he certainly wasn’t expecting to hear Steve _Captain America_ Rogers _**gulp**_ when he stands up from the barstool he’d been sitting on while Clint stitched him up, even if his pants _are_ half undone. 

For a split second, Matt is able to convince himself that he’d only heard it because he was _him_ , and not because it was comically loud in an almost cartoonish way. Only for a here-and-gone moment, though, because Jess has clearly noticed something.

“Is there something wrong, Steve?” Jessica asks sharply. 

“Jess,” Matt starts, but Jess interrupts him.

“No, Matt,” she insists, “because he’s been mad dogging you all night like _you’re_ the burglar.”

“No one is a burglar!” Steve exclaims.

“Not the point, Love,” Clint answers. 

Natasha is now on the couch with her feet braced against Steve’s thigh as she shakes with the effort of trying not to laugh. “I need popcorn and a video call with Tony. He’d love this.”

“JJ,” Matt says, with an obviously and badly forced calm, “I am a twitch away from literally standing here with my pants around my ankles. Please just trust me and let it go. It is weird, but fine. Good even,” his eyebrow twitches, “maybe.”

Jessica Jones is many things, including a damn good PI. Something is going on here, and everyone knows about it but her. The problem is, no matter how she looks at this, she can’t see anything other than Steve inexplicably - to her, at least - hating Matt. Unless...wait. “Oh… well, shit, sure...”

Clint breaks out in braying laughter, and the look on his face is nothing short of gleeful. “Holy shit, Stevie, you are the fucking _worst_.”

Not that Steve hears. He is too busy sitting there, bright red, intense focus alternating rapidly between Matt and literally anything else. 

Eventually, Nat brings him around by jabbing her big toe into his belly. “You do not drool on my feet. That is too weird.”

“Fuck.”

“Very eloquent, Steve,” Clint got out through rough chuckles, “you are the worst, Love. Jess,” he shouts across the room to where Jessica sits in the recliner, looking shell-shocked, “you ok? Matt? You alright? This got weird. I can throw Steve off the fire escape, if that’ll help? We can see if he bounces.”

“He’ll probably just dent the sidewalk.” Jessica seems to realize what she said just a touch too late. “Well, now you know that booze doesn’t make me nicer.”

“Does that super-punch come with the super-metabolism, too?” Steve asks, but Jess just blinks at him. “Alcohol doesn’t do anything for me or the other, uh, enhanced,” he explains, “figured you might be the same, so I was gonna offer you a little of my mead, if you’d like?”

That stops Matt dead. He stands there more confused than any single thing that has ever existed has ever been, shirtless, and with his pants around his thighs, trying to figure out what the hell he just heard. “You find out that alcohol makes her _meaner_ , so you offer her something _stronger_?”

“Yes.” It’s a single word, but it conveys multitudes. Steve pauses for a tick before explaining, “I don’t think it makes her _meaner_. If it does, well, I guess I’ll learn it first hand. But...i don’t think she’s actually mean. What about it? Do you, uh, have an increased tolerance, too?”

Matt just tilts his head. “She’s been nothing but mean to you since you met her. You have nothing to go on that says she can be anything but nice.”

“Her friends,” Steve answers. “Clint, Bucky, Bruce. Tony’s declared her a sister and...Nat hasn’t killed her yet, which is practically a ringing endorsement.”

“I mean…” Jess drawls, “kinda. I’ve been trying to raise the average percentage of blood in my alcohol stream, but I can get drunk, so... No, I'm not like Jamie. Or you, I guess; there is an upper limit on my drinking.” She pauses to finish her drink, “He’s just Irish and Catholic.”

Matt’s hands clench on the waistband of the slacks he’s still only half wearing. “It’s just ‘Irish Catholic.’”

Steve chuckles. “No, she’s right. When it’s about drink, anyway.”

“I really just want to be wearing pants. Can we just leave me alone long enough that I can change?” Matt’s smiling as he says it, but he has been standing there trying to change for an unusually long time, all of this is... _odd_ , and his patience is running thin. 

“I dunno, Matty,” Jess says it a bit wickedly, “ _can_ _we_?”

Matt drops his chin to his chest and sighs. “Obviously not.”

“Boomerang burn. Nice,” Clint says as he drops a stack of paper plates and a roll of paper towels on the pile of pizza boxes Jess and Matt had brought. 

“My limit is under hers, but just, and I don’t really get hangovers,” Matt answers Steve, as he steps out of his pants so he can get into the soft, dry, and not bloody pair that was waiting for him. 

“Aw, don’t you just su- _Fuck_.” Clint cuts himself off when he rounds the kitchen island - loaded down with the stack of pizza boxes - and catches an eyeful of Matt, bent over to pull on his lounge pants, which causes him to trip over absolutely fucking nothing, and drop the pizzas. 

Over on the couch, Natasha grinds her heels into Steve’s thigh as she cackles out something that sounds vaguely like “smooth.” Under her, Steve is grimacing, though at what is a bit of an unknown; it could be because of Natasha’s feet trying to bore through his leg, or the fact that Matt’s face is as red his must be, or that Clint appears to have lost his mind and potentially ruined their food at the same time. 

“Would you believe that I’m just tired and incompetent, and not actually creepy?” Clint’s scratching his head and wearing an awkward smile, and it is the physical embodiment of “aw, shucks.”

“Please,” Matt nearly pleads from where he is hunched over, still trying to change his clothes, “let me put on my pants.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Clint agrees, “I’m just gonna go throw myself off the balcony. Let’s see if _I_ bounce.”

“You don’t,” Steve and Natasha say at the same time. 

“Ugh, ok. Fine,” Clint groans, “you are both very mean spirited people, you know.”

“Clint,” Steve more sighs than says, but it is fond either way, “check the pizza. I think it’s fine, it fell straight down. Then sit down,” Steve stops and smirks at his boyfriend, “and stop being weird.”

Clint clutches at his chest as if he’s been shot. “You use my words against me, Steve?” He shrugs. “Oh well, at least it’s less awkward and we’re all wearing pants now. Matt, I’m sorry. If you are uncomfortable and want to bail, I get it. If not,” he bends down and picks up the undamaged pizza boxes, “let’s eat.”

Jess hangs over the arm of the chair toward Natasha and quietly asks, “are they always like this?”

“No,” she says darkly, then softens, “but they should be.”

“Oh, stop with the cryptic Russian nightmare thing, you’re terrifying enough on your own,” Clint says to Nat, before turning to Jess. “What’d you get?”

Jess shrugs. “Whatever they had ready and unclaimed. Matt knows better than I do.”

Matt wrinkles his nose. “One of them has olives.”

* * *

Nat watches Jessica watch Matt, watches for her to wait for his cues. She shouldn’t, and she knows it; these are Clint’s friends, and more than that, people he trusts to have his back. Considering the only reason she’s alive is because Coulson trusted Clint when he said the same about her, maybe she should trust him, too. If she wanted, she could write it off as post mission jitters. While she doesn’t have the problem shaking Tiny Dancer the way Clint has with Ronin or even James with the Winter Soldier, it is still a change. She suspects it’s closer to what Steve went and still goes through - Steve didn’t _become_ Nomad; he _was_ Nomad and _became_ Captain America. 

As Nat watches the other woman, she realizes that Jessica does the same, but is more honest about it: She is always Jessica Jones. No masks, no code names, no headspace to shift into and out of, and damned if that doesn’t leave Natasha impressed, something that nearly never happens. Jess is doing the same thing for Matt that she was for Clint and Steve: Protecting her moron.

Jessica’s moron who had been called over as DareDevil and shown up disguised in a lawyer suit; that makes it pretty clear to her that he is like her. Matt is the _fighter_ all the time, and he’s managed to build a life and not burn it all down. She can respect that, too. 

Natasha ignores the conversation while she chases a thought, eventually cutting in, “wait, Murdock? Of _Nelson and Murdock?”_

“It’s _Nelson, Murdock, and Page,”_ Matt corrects, “now, anyway. But, yes. Why?”

“Tash,” Clint says around a mouthful of pizza from where he’s sitting by the coffee table, and it still somehow manages to sound like begging, “no work. Please.”

“It’s not work,” she answers softly, and turns to Steve. “They are the ones Pepper got for James’ case.”

Clint frowns at them. “You didn’t know that?”

“Who would have told us, Clint?” Natasha asks, shooting him a look that would wither a plant. 

Clint shrugs. “I dunno. Me? Pepper? Tony? Bucky?” His shoulders hitch again, and he takes another massive bite of pizza. 

Nat looks to Steve for some support, but sees that he has what Tony calls his _“Disney Princess Face.”_ It’s the absolutely ridiculous face Steve makes when he sees something _good_ , and his eyes sort of twinkle. It makes him look young and innocent in a way he normally doesn’t, and is a stark reminder that despite all the hell he’s seen and the year he was born, he isn’t actually very old at all, and he really is eternally optimistic. 

Clint must notice it too, because as she’s looking at Steve, a greasy wad of paper towel comes flying through the air and hits him between the eyes. “Earth to Stevie, you’re doing the anime eyes again. What happiness are you going to puke on us now?”

That catches Jess’s attention, and she swivels her head to Clint, who just winks.

“He’s about to go full Pollyanna,” Clint explains, “and he’s going to open his mouth and a relentless flood of happiness and joy is going to come out, like those anime characters that open their mouths and puke rainbows and flowers and shit.”

Steve just flips him off and keeps staring at Matt. Not that it’s new for the night, but the quality of the look is different. “You folks saved my… _my brother_ ’s life. I didn’t know. I… thank you.”

“Wait…” - Clint blinks at Steve - “… you really didn’t know? _How_?”

Steve sighs. “Pepper respectfully requested, since they are excellent lawyers and she would like to be able to utilize their services again, that I not go down there and - I quote - _be Steeb all over them.”_ He sounds very much like a small child that has been thoroughly scolded. 

“‘Be Steeb’?” Jess asks, and it causes Clint to break out laughing. Again. 

“This is Steeb,” Clint explains, waving at Steve. “He is very sweet and he means well, and he is happy and loving and kind, and if you don’t rein him in, he gets really overbearing.” He turns to Steve - _Steeb_. “So rein it in, Love.”

“Pepper Potts asks Captain America to not be Captain America,” Jess says slowly, “that’s...weird.”

“Eh, not really. Somewhere along the line Bucky got promoted to brother and Pepper became the BFF and now?” Clint takes another bite of pizza. “Heaven help the moron that interrupts them when they’re ‘oooh, gurl’-ing.”

“We do not ‘ooh gurl,’ Clint, c’mon,” Steve gripes.

Nat chuckles and pokes him in the ribs. “You totally do, and it’s hilarious. And terrifying for those of us that know those two could take over the world if they want to. They are adorable and you can’t sit with them.”

“Pepper Potts and Captain America are _mean girls._ ” Jess isn’t quite _agog_ , but this bit of information is testing the limits of her willing suspension of disbelief. 

“Stop that, we cannot,” Steve retorts, “but I get your point. I still don’t know what the sitting with us thing is. You keep saying it. We are nice and friendly and welcoming. Anyone can come sit with us.” He turns to Matt, “Anyway… I know just getting through his records isn’t easy, so thank you for that and all the work that came after. You saved his life and I’m grateful.”

“It’s a quote from a movie,” Jess explains, “Called Mean Girls. It’s chick-flick trash but fun. Anyway, they saved his life? I mean, life in prison isn’t great, but-“

“Jessica,” Matt cuts her off with a shake of his head.

“Steve’s right,” Natasha says softly, “it’s done and over now, thanks to you and your partner. So, thank you.”

Jess blinks at the terrifying Russian for a moment. “Oh, shit. You’re Jamie’s badass girlfriend!”

Something flashes across Nat’s face before settling into a soft smile. “And you are Jessie.”

“Wait,” Steve says, very loudly, even for him, “WHAT?”

“Hey, Loudest Thing in the Universe, it is the middle of the night, use your inside scream,” Clint says, somehow not unkindly. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Steve holds his hands up in a gesture of surrender and speaks much more quietly when he turns to Natasha, “you and Bucky? Since when?” He turns to Jess, “and you call him ‘Jamie’? I tried that, once. When I was 13, and got hit for my trouble. How’d ya manage that?”

“Paraguay,” Nat answers, “when he and Clint got home.”

“He called me Jessie and I hit him; I called him Jamie and he hit me. The names stuck, the hitting didn't,” Jess explains. “Why aren’t you mad that Clint knew about all of this?”

“Secrets between Nat and I either don’t exist or don’t count, depending,” Clint says.

“If one of us knows, just assume the other does, too,” Nat confirms.

“It’s really creepy,” Steve adds, “but you get used to it.”

“That sounds useful,” Matt comments idly, and is met with silence for a long beat. “Jess, are their smiles as creepy as they feel?”

“Creepier, pretty sure, and I want to learn how to do that.”

“‘K,” Clint says, “text me next week and I’ll teach you.”

“Please do not,” Matt says lamely. 

“Don’t worry, Matt,” Steve encourages, “I don’t think it’s a thing that can be taught.”

“No,” Natasha corrects, “I don’t think it’s a thing your face can _do_.”

“Clint’s right, you are mean,” Steve says.

“She is, but not about this, Stevie,” Clint answers. “Hey,” he turns to Jess and Matt, “thank you for grabbing pizza.”

“I used your card,” Jess mumbles around a mouth full of pizza.

“‘S why you have it,” Clint counters. 

“Wait,” Matt tilts his head at Clint, looking entirely too _cute confused puppy_ for Clint’s own good, “You gave Jessica your credit card? When? And… _why?”_

“I gave her a card drawn off my account,” Clint frowns, “Well, I gave it to _Alias Investigations._ It is part of the retainer? Nelson, Murdock, and Page have one, too?”

“We… what?” Matt frowns, “Why do you have a PI on retainer?”

“Same reason I have you three; building and tenant stuff.” Clint thinks for a second and adds, “‘s not Clint Barton. It’s… Purple Arrow Something, I think? I dunno, Rhodey set it up.”

“Rhodey… James Rhodes? Handles your finances?” Matt’s just landed in the twilight zone. Obviously, someone had to handle Hawkeye’s finances - Avengers are still people and still have real life that needs to be handled - but it is a lot to handle at three in the morning when you are a hair's breadth from an adrenaline crash. 

“Oops, I think the ginger snapped,” Jess says, then turns to Matt, “you ok over there, Red? Pretty sure I can smell you cooking your brain with all that over thinking you’re doing. Just eat your pizza while we wait for someone to tell us about this favor they’re gonna ask.”

“Oh, yeah, no, it… it’s nothing,” Steve stammers. “I just… had a question, but I think I’m good. We’ll just eat pizza and bullshit and drink more. Speaking of, I need more,” and he lift’s Natasha’s feet off his lap and stands up.

“Me, too, Steven,” Nat says, holding her glass out to Steve, “I’m afraid if I get up I’ll ruin your work. Again.”

He looks down at the tiny redheaded woman, “Right, that’s not weird. Anyway,” he looks around the room, “anyone else?”

Jess shoots her arm out toward him, empty glass clutched in her hand. “Please,” she adds a second later.

“Me, too, please. Thank you,” Matt says, adding, “and what were you going to ask? Please, I might go crazy wondering about it.”

Steve just sighs, so Clint answers, “Steve would like to go to church. He hasn’t gone to confession since 1945, but doesn’t feel it’s fair to burden a priest with the sort of things he wants to confess. I know that you trust your guy and tell him about what you do, so I was hoping you could talk Steve into going. Or something.”

Of all the thoughts that had been running through Matt’s head about why Clint asked them to come over, none were anywhere near what Clint just said. “I… yes? I mean, ok? I’m not sure…” Matt trails off and scratches his head, but hisses a little when the movement pulls at his stitches. “Damn, this is,” he smirks at Clint, “am I just the only other Catholic you know?”

“No.” Clint says it definitively, but follows it up with, “but the only one confirmed practicing. But! But, there’s actually a real reason; I know your priest guy knows your secrets, and I’d imagine they are in the same vein as what Steve’s so worried about. It was worth a shot to ask; we know he’ll never be able to tell _everything_ , but I think something is better than, y’know.”

“Is this funny yet?” Jessica asks the room as a whole, rather than any specific person. 

“For us,” Natasha says, extending a hand out to Jessica, “yes, definitely.”

“Oh…” Jess looks at the proffered hand for a second before taking it in her own, so they were awkwardly holding hands, stretched across one corner of the living room, “good. Because this is hilarious.”

“I…” Matt trails off. _‘You_ what, _Matthew_?’ He asks himself. “I can introduce you to Father Lantom. Clint’s right, he knows… what I _do._ I know there are several vets in the congregation, so I’d bet he’s heard that, too. Pretty much all of us lived through the Battle of New York, so, it may be a new twist, but that’s an old story.”

“Huh,” Steve grunts, “never thought of it like that. Thank you. And, yeah, please. I’d like that. I think.”

“Ok, I was, uh,” Matt takes a deep breath, and winces. “Yikes, sorry. Anyway, I was going to go on, uh, Tuesday. After work.”

“That, um, yup. Works.” Steve Rogers, ever the charmer, replies. “Uh, yeah. It’s a date.”

“I am too tired to make fun of that,” Clint groans and falls backwards, laying sprawled out on the floor, half under the coffee table. “Maaaan. Getting old sucks.”

Jess yawns into the back of her wrist. “No joke.”

“Yeah, right, girly,” Clint snarks, “I got a dozen years on ya, easy. D’sn’t matter, though. It’s late and we’re all winding down. You guys gonna crash?”

Matt winces, head throbbing and a little drunk; it’s only going to get worse from here. Dealing with that and an unfamiliar space sounds a lot like torture. “Nah, I need to get back to my place.”

Battered as they were, and doing the same things themselves, Clint, Steve, and Natasha _got it_. “Fair ‘nough,” Clint yawns, “take the clothes, bring ‘Em back next time. Or not, no big….Oh! And we have a car downstairs if you guys want a ride. We’re in for the night. Morning. Whatever.”

“We have a car?” Steve asks.

“Yeah, Mar’s got a rotating team downstairs to act as delivery or whatever while we _recuperate._ Right now AP is down there beating my ass at Word with Friends.”

“Aw, AP,” Natasha cooed, “say hi to Pidgey for me.”

“Oh, wow, you’re drunk, lady,” Clint laughs at Natasha. “You’re done for now.”

Matt stands up from his chair, and almost immediately trips over it. He is able to recover enough to not fall, but it is enough to convince him that, “we’ll take the car, thank you.”

“No worries. I’ll text AP and let her know, you just tell her where you want to go. You can leave your stuff here if you want to come back and get it later.”

“I… actually, yeah,” Matt answers as he jams his feet into his shoes, “I’ll get it Tuesday, I guess. And… We’ll talk later about time and such?”

“Yeah, that works,” Steve answers. “Thank you again. Really, I… appreciate it.” Steve watches them for a beat; Jess has her jacket on and her feet in her unzipped boots and looks ready to fall asleep. “Text us when you get home so I know you made it safe, ok?”

He follows them to the door, and Jessica turns to him.“Not any less weird, but… Thank you for something new to laugh at Matty about, and for not being mad that I hit you.”

“Uh, you’re welcome?” Steve calls after her as they started down the hallway. 

Matt turns to wave at him, again, “uh, bye.”

"Yes, good,” Jess hisses at him as they wait for the elevator, “you made some friends. You don't need to wrench your neck to wave to them."

“Jessica, they are waving at us. Just… come on.”

"Yes, they _are_ waving,” Jessica answers with mild irritation, but she sees the new sort of excitement on his face and gives in. “Yeah, yeah, I'm waving back."

“With _all_ of your fingers, Jessica,” Matt sighs.

"Fine, yes, with _all_ my fingers."

He knocks his shoulder into hers just as the elevator arrives, and they enter the car giggling. As soon as the doors close behind them, Jes turns to Matt, and in a little kid voice says, “Matty’s got Captain America all twitterpated. Hawkeye, too apparently.”

Matt grins, he can’t help it. “Shut up,” he says as he shoves at her shoulder. 

The two dissolve into a puddle of drunken giggles that they keep up until Jessica watches Matt close the door to his apartment before heading off to her place. 

What a strange night.


	2. Always Something We Look For

Tuesday, 10/02/2018

Steve spends an inordinate amount of time getting ready for church, and Clint can’t help but mock him for it.

“Should I be jealous,” Clint laughs. “You are putting way more effort into this weird church date than I think you ever have into going out with me.”

“First of all, you take me to food carts. I’m not wearing a suit to a food cart,” Steve explains. He knows Clint doesn’t mean anything by it, but… Steve’s nervous. About all of it, really. He’s already proven he doesn’t know how to be anything other than _awful_ and _awkward_ around Matt, and he hasn’t been to church in a lifetime. “Besides, I am making up for a lot of lost time. I get that it’s different now, but dressing up for church is what I’m used to. I think..” he sighs. “I think I need this.”

Clint steps up behind him at the mirror and places a hand between his shoulder blades. “I know, Love. I’m not trying to be an ass, I’m just trying to distract you. You’re way too tightly wound.” He presses a kiss to Steve’s cheek before adding, “even for you.”

“Ha ha.” Steve says dryly, straightening his already straight tie. “I think… I think at this point I’m rearranging deck chairs on a sinking ship. This is as good as it’s going to get.”

Clint makes a show of raking his eyes up and down Steve’s reflection. Thoroughly. “Steven, if you looked any better, I’m not sure you’d make it out of the house.” His hand slides down Steve’s back and grabs his ass. You know, for emphasis.

Steve just laughs. “I’m not sure that response is appropriate for church wear, but… Thank you?”

“Eh,” Clint shrugs. “That’s my standard response to you in a suit. I dunno why.”

“Well, that’s… not different.” Steve says. “I don’t know… you know what, it’s fine. I need to go or I am going to be late.”

“Yup.” Clint agrees, stepping back to give Steve some space. And another pat on the ass. “You’ll be fine. If it gets to be too much, you can always leave, and if you need an adult, call… well, Pepper is the only adult I actually know. But if you need anything I can help with, just text me or whatever.”

“You are so helpful, Darling.” Steve says, placing a kiss on Clint’s nose. He pats himself down, checking to make sure he has everything. “Ok. I have to go before I lose my nerve.”

Clint laughs, gives him a kiss, and shoves him out the door. 

* * *

Steve meets Matt at the church right at sundown, and is caught out cold by Matt, who looks amazing in the golden hour light. 

“Uh, hi, Matt.” Steve greets awkwardly. “I… I’m really nervous and being weird. Maybe ignore me?”

Matt laughs in response. “I don’t think you need to be nervous, but I think I get it. If you don’t want to…”

“No, no. I do. Absolutely.” Steve assures. “I’m just being a _giant weiner_. Or, so says Pepper.”

Matt laughs at that, too. “Ok, then. Shall we go inside?”

“Yeah. That’s why we’re here, after all.”

They make their way into the church and Steve isn’t sure what he’s expecting, but nothing happens. He tries to conjure up memories of what church felt like for him _before_ , but he can’t come up with any specific feeling or emotion. He’s not disappointed, but he had been hoping to feel _something_.

He hopes his disappointment doesn’t show as he let’s Matt lead him over to where an older man in a collar is swapping out used votives.

“Father Lantom,” Matt starts, “I, uh, have a friend with me who hasn’t been to church in… a while, and he has some questions I thought you could answer.”

Father Lantom looks from Matt to Steve several times. “Matthew,” the older man says exasperatedly, “what is your world that you end up bringing Captain America to me?”

“Actually, it’s just Steve, please, Father,” Steve answers, offering his hand to the priest. 

“Yes, of course; my apologies,” Father Lantom falters a bit, “this is just unexpected, is all, though given most of the surprises Matt has brought me over the years, this is possibly the best.”

Matt shrugs. “The least violent, at least.”

Both men shoot him a look, and he either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. Instead, he just turns to Steve. “Alright, I will… take off, give you some privacy,” Matt says. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Steve says, “it’s pouring rain out. You’ll catch your death.” 

“Steve.” It’s somewhere between a whine and a sigh, “I’ll be able to hear you.” 

“I figured, and if you want to listen that’s up to you.” Steve gives him a small smile. “Maybe it’s a good thing; better to know I’m a broken old soldier before we become friends and you get invested.” 

Matt tilted his head, “I… doubt that.”

“Listen," Steve drawls, “If you aren’t comfortable with hearing me and want to take off, I get it. It’s weird, but if so, you should go first so you don’t have to wait around for nothing. I…” he trails off as he looks around the church, “have some catching up to do, anyway.”

“No, Matthew can occupy himself.” Father Lantom says, sounding a lot like Phil does when Clint’s being particularly difficult. “Would you just like to talk, or would you like to give confession?”

“I think just talk for now, if that’s alright, Father.” Steve answers. “I… that’s part of what has kept me away, if I am being honest. I am, well…”

“Steve,” Father Lantom says calmly. “Let’s go into the rectory and talk? Or maybe just somewhere not so,” he gestures to the very large open space they are standing in, “exposed.”

“Oh, yeah. Right,” Steve stammers sheepishly. “I, yes. That sounds good.”

They all head into the rectory and sit at a table and Steve starts to explain all of it. The guilt at having been away for so long, and the guilt at the thought of unloading on someone who didn’t sign up for it… all of it. Father Lantom is patient and answers all of his questions, and does quite a lot to calm Steve’s fears. Matt spends the whole time listening to the two men go back and forth, absorbing everything he’s learning about both of them. It’s a lot, and it is heavy, and he feels particularly honored to be allowed to be here for it. 

All told, they end up talking for several hours before Father Lantom is called away to attend to compline. 

“Thank you for doing this, Matt. I feel… so much better.” Steve hopes he’s conveying how grateful he is. The evening went well, and Steve’s actually looking forward to attending church on Sunday for the first time in forever. 

“Of course,” Matt says simply. 

“Hey,” Steve says. Their evening is over, but he’s still a little amped up from the whole thing, and he is really enjoying talking to Matt. “There’s a diner a block over that Happy loves. I don’t know if you have plans, but if not, would you like to grab dinner with me?”

It’s unexpected, but Matt’s hungry, and he’s enjoying Steve’s company so he agrees, and before long they are seated at a booth waiting for their food. Matt asks some questions about what church was like for Steve back before, and Steve takes every opportunity to question Matt, to learn more about the man that he seems to find infinitely fascinating. 

They talk through the meal and until the check comes, and a little longer after that before they’ve run out of excuses to keep the evening going. 

“I really can’t thank you enough for this,” Steve says to Matt when they exit the diner. “I… need this, I think. Needed to know it was ok.”

“Well, I’m glad I could help, then,” Matt says with a smile. “Are we on for Sunday?”

“Yeah. I’ll meet you in the same spot?” When Matt nods in agreement, Steve adds, “Maybe we can come here for breakfast after. Happy’s right; it is good.”

“Who’s Happy?” Matt asks.

“Oh, sorry. He’s Pepper’s bodyguard and one of Tony’s best friends.” He thinks for a second, “And I think he is the head of SI security. I’m not sure. Big guy, really nice. Lives to make fun of Peter.”

Matt just laughs at that. He can appreciate making fun of Peter. “I, uh, yeah. He was right.” 

They stand there awkwardly for a minute before Steve laughs. “Ok, time to head home, I think. I’ll see you Sunday?”

“Sunday,” Matt agrees, and they go their separate ways.

* * *

Steve finally makes it home, and he can’t wait to talk to Clint. “Did you know he’s sweet, too? And… attentive and thoughtful? That’s… helpful,” Steve sulks. 

“Aw, Love,” Clint starts, running his fingers through Steve’s hair, “you’re a mess. You really are taken with this guy, aren’t you?” There’s no heat or anger or mocking or anything of the sort in Clint’s words; mostly, he just sounds fond. 

“I am,” Steve nods. “Clint, forgive me, but I really, really am. All I really have to compare it to is you, back in the beginning, but… it really feels a lot like that.” 

“Steve,” Clint gives a soft laugh and tugs lightly at Steve’s hair, “There’s nothing to forgive.” 

Steve buries his face in Clint’s shirt, “That doesn’t help. It feels like there should be. I’m telling you I feel about someone else the way I feel… felt, at least, about you.” 

“Ok, well, what do you want to do about it?” 

“Not feel like this?” Steve asks miserably. “I… it isn’t fair to you, and I definitely don’t ever want to do anything to mess _this_ up. Plus, he’s interesting and funny and so smart, and I don’t want to mess up the chance at a friendship with the guy because… I went full _Steeb_ all over him.” 

“Aw, Stevie.” Clint kisses the top of Steve’s head, “You are definitely a mess. Do you feel better now that you’ve confessed your crush to me, though?” 

“I guess,” Steve squeezes Clint a bit, “…I still really like him, though.” 

“I know, but it’s been ten minutes.” Clint chuckles, “Maybe give it a little time?” 

“Yeah, ok.” Steve agrees, but he still feels weird about the whole thing, but in a new and sort of exciting way. 

Yeah, he’s fucked.

* * *

Wednesday, 10/17/2018 

Steve is on a mission, and Clint has nothing to do, so he and Lucky are up on the roof in Brooklyn, enjoying an unusually warm-for-fall evening, drinking beer, listening to Leonard Cohen, and refletching some arrows. He’s all settled in for a relaxing evening when Matt pops up on the roof out of the blue - in the ninja jammies - and scares the ever-loving shit out of him. “Jess begged off baby-bug watch so she could go on a stakeout for a big job she has,” Matt explains with no preamble, “so I came to see if you wanted to fill in?”

Clint shrugs. “Steve’s outta town, and I’ve got sweet fuck else to do. So, yeah. Sure. Let me get cleaned up and changed?”

“Yeah, of course,” Matt agrees, standing there awkwardly as Clint packs up his supplies. 

It doesn’t take long, and in a matter of minutes they are back up on the roof and ready to set out for the night. 

All told, it’s a pretty uneventful evening. They amuse themselves by racing each other up the sides of buildings, which is great fun until they end up crashing the stake out Jessica begged off patrol for. 

“Fuck. You trash monsters,” she rants at them. “This is a huge job, and you just blew weeks worth of work. The mark is spooked, and I don’t know how long it will take me to get something else set up.”

They can tell this is a big deal because, for the first time ever, Clint is seeing Jessica Jones in shoes other than black leather boots. Granted, they are black-on-black Chucks.

“Theater nerd to the core,” Matt chides her good naturedly, earning him a punch for his efforts. 

“Haha,” she answers sarcastically, “Damnit-! Barton, I’m not a sniper! I have impressions on my tits from the grating I’ve been leaning against for the last five hours, and you just blew all that work… and I have to pee.” 

“Shit, Jess,” Clint says apologetically, “I’m sorry. How can I make it up to you? Name it.” 

Jess looks at him for a long tick. “Let me borrow your boyfriend.”

“Done.” Clint says instantly, holding out his hand.

Jess shakes it. “Tell him to be at my place, tomorrow, at seven.”

“Yeah, sure, of course.” Clint says. “Can we help with” he gestures to the fire escape, “this?”

“No, the asshole's gone. I’m going to go drown my sorrows and wasted time. Bye.” Jess turns on her heel and stomps off, leaving the two men standing in her wake.

It takes a beat, but a very confused Matt turns to Clint, “You just… gave her your boyfriend?” 

Clint shrugs. “I mean, she asked.”

“But…” Matt isn’t less confused. 

“Look, when he leaves for missions, I literally tell him to come home with his shield or on it, and that is the _least_ gay thing to happen to him all day.” Clint laughs. “The man is the gayest thing that has ever existed. If that’s what she’s after, honestly, I just wanna hear the story. But, if it’s what I think it is, she’s actually doing Bucky and me a huge favor.”

Matt doesn’t know what to say to that, so he doesn’t bother saying anything at all. They just set out looking for trouble and keeping an eye on Peter, trading stories along the way. Eventually, they decide there’s nothing more they can do for the night and go their separate ways. 

Steve is home when Clint gets there, and that’s a pleasant surprise.

“Hey, where were you tonight?” Steve asks after greeting his boyfriend.

“Matt dropped by and asked if I wanted to go out with him on watch.” Clint explains. “Which reminds me, you need to be at Jessica’s place tomorrow at nineteen-hundred.”

“Um, sure,” Steve says confusedly. “That’s not a problem, but, uh, why?”

Clint just sighs. “Long story… Just make sure you clip your fingernails and be nice.”

“I… what?” Steve asks.

“Nothing,” Clint says, “I’m being weird. Because I’m tired. Bed?”

Steve isn’t sure what’s going on, but everyone is fine and there isn’t anything he can do, so… "Yeah, bed sounds good.”

* * *

Thursday, 10/18/18

Steve knocks on the door, and Jessica pulls it open. She looks happy, and a little devious.

"Jamie says you like movies." Jess smirks. "And Clint says you are the epitome of girlfriend-gay." 

“I’m not- I don’t even know what _girlfriend gay_ is,” Steve groans. “And can we please discuss how gay I may or may not be _inside your apartment_?”

Jess steps to the side and ushers Steve in. “First, off, you are super fucking _hella_ gay. And second… you're sure you don't mind using your time to pay Clint's debts?"

Steve just laughs at that. “Yeah, I am. I’m used to it.” 

Jess nods. "Cool, so, long week, shit work, and it all went down the tubes when Matt and Big Bird spooked my mark, so I need to blow off some steam."

“Oh, so you want a workout buddy or something? Something to hit?” It wasn’t what Steve was expecting - though, to be sure, he isn’t sure _what_ he was expecting.”

"Um, no.” Jess says quickly. “I don't... I'm still working up to _running when not being chased_ , and fighting doesn't make me _less_ stressed. Anyway, we can go nineties kid classic or old-ass classic... Shit, um..." Jess holds up copies of _You've Got Mail_ and _Bringing Up Baby_. "I need a romcom, but you're the indentured guest."

"Bringing Up Baby!” Steve smiles happily. “I love that film, and it’s the sorta thing I can’t really even guilt Clint into watching with me.”

She can’t help but laugh at that. "You would." 

They settle in and make it through Bringing Up Baby. When it ends, they chat for a bit and figure out they’re both hungry, so they order some food and wait for it to arrive.

There’s a bit of a lul in the conversation when something occurs to Steve. “Hey, do you know why Clint told me to clip my nails before I got here?” 

“Uh, wut?” Jess just blinks at him.

“When Clint told me I was coming over her, he told me to clip my nails and be nice. He said it like it was a thing, and I don’t know if it is, or if it’s just Clint fucking with me.”

“It _is_ Clint.” She shrugs. “I dunno. Google it. If it’s really awful, it’s probably on Urban Dictionary.” 

“Urban dictionary?” 

“Douchebag-to-English translator.” Jess answers before thinking. “Sort of.” 

Steve pulls out his phone and navigates to the site and...“ _‘Clipping fingernails: The act of getting ready for sex; it refers to clipping fingernails in order to make fingering pleasurable._ ’ The fuck? Clint!” 

Jessica just blinks at that. “ _Clint_ said that? What the hell did he think he was sending you to do?”

“... give him something to laugh at. Mission accomplished. Asshole.”

"Does he... One, you are just- Fuck, you're _you!"_ Jessica pulling out her phone, typing and oh so serious. 

[ **Jessicakes:** _you are a fucking trashimal!!!!! steve is so fucking gay just the thought of fucking THAT gay is PAINFUL!!! just because matt is a fucking thirsty ho doesnt mean i am._ ]

[ **Jessicakes:** _its mildly funny, but youre still a dick._ ]

[ **Jessicakes:** _if red talked you into this, tell him hes also a dick!_ ]

[ **Bigbird:** _First, that shit is hilarious. Second, I dinnt think u actually wanted to fuck him, Jess. But you two thinking I did is fucking hilarious. Matt did, too, if that makes you feel better._ ]

[ **Jessicakes:** _im switching to musicals after bringing up baby_ ]

[ **Jessicakes:** _fuck you can turn your ears off_ ]

[ **Jessicakes:** _tell red i will be humming pirates of penzance this week and teaching danny the chorus_ ]

[ **Bigbird:** _oh, yeah. I love the Countries of the World Song_ ]

[ **Jessicakes:** _you know Animaniacs?_ ]

[ **Bigbird: __** _I spent 1989 through 1994 stoned and watching cartoons in between committing crimes_ ]

When Jess barks out a laugh, Steve can’t help but be nosy. “What’s so funny?” 

“Your boyfriend.” 

Steve snorts. “Debatable.” 

Eventually their food shows up and they queue up another movie, both genuinely pleased by how much fun they’re having. All good things must end though, and before long the credits are rolling on the second film. 

“It’s late,” Steve says, pushing himself off the couch. “I’m going to head out.”

“Yeah, ok.” Jess says, a little… something. “This was a lot of fun, Steve. Thank you.” She pauses for a beat before adding, “You wanna do it again? Maybe… two weeks? I’ll see if I can get someone to cover my patrol?”

“You know what,” Steve says with a grin, “I really do. And don’t worry about it. Clint’ll cover you. Maybe we make this a regular thing? Maybe he’ll stop offering me up as payment.”

Jess gives him a grin of her own, and it’s only mildly terrifying. “That sounds good. See you around, Steve.”

“Later, Jess

* * *

Meanwhile, elsewhere in the city, Clint and Matt are still out on watch, but it’s been a quiet night so far. So quiet, Peter eventually gives up and begs off early saying he has a test to study for, and both are secretly glad for it. Not that they have any issue with the kid - far from it - but… his enthusiasm can be overwhelming. Plus, he had consistently been interrupting the older men while they were engrossed in something. Mostly bullshit and flirting, but they didn’t have much else to do, and it is a lot of fun.

Still, they have even more fun after the kid goes home, and they can get back to their game of _Who Can Scale the Building Faster?_ without the spiderling and his whole wall-walking schtick ruining the game. They had almost made it to the roof of some random building when Kermit the Frog’s voice came blaring from Clint’s pocket. 

“Here’s some simple advice: always be yourself , never take yourself too seriously, and be aware of advice from experts, pigs, and members of parliament,” Kermit soberly offers. 

“What is _that_?” Matt asked, sounding surprised or like he was about to burst out laughing, or maybe both - a little risky as he wasn’t _quite_ all the way on the roof yet.

“Jessica.” Clint - the victor in this particular challenge, as he is already entirely on the roof, even if he is laying sprawled out on his back and panting heavily - chuckles as he pulls his phone out. “Probably to yell at me. Deservedly.” He checks the text and laughs, “oh, yeah, I am super on her shit list right now. And taking you down with me, apparently. Sorry ‘bout that.”

“What? How? I…” Matt flops down next to Clint, “what?”

Clint hums thoughtfully before speaking, “I may have implied to Steve that Jessica wanted to fuck him. Just… a little.”

“Ok…” Matt starts, but stops almost immediately. “ _Why_?”

“Funny,” the big blonde offers with a shrug. 

“I, uh… a little, I guess?” Matt can kinda see the joke, but more sees all the ways it could go poorly. “What would you have done if her intention _was_ to sleep with Steve?” 

“Apologize profusely?” Clint asks with a wry grin. “Look, she called him the gayest thing ever, or something like that, and she knows that he and I are together, so I’m pretty sure she knows he is, at the very least, more interested in masculine folks than anything else. So… that’s prolly not what she’s asking for. I _do_ know that she’s been trying to rope Barnes into movie night, and I think he suggested she hit up Steve. So, I am pretty sure I know what she’s actually after.”

Matt shoots him a small frown. ”Couldn’t you just say that?” 

“Well, yeah,” Clint answers distractedly as he types furiously away on his phone, “but that is way less fun.”

“You know, even I can’t argue with that,” Matt replies, sounding a little baffled. “Anyway, what now?”

“Sounds like they’re done with movie night, the kid is at home, and fuck all has happened tonight. Plus, I scaled, like, six buildings with my bare hands: My old ass is tired. Maybe call it?” 

As if on cue, Clint’s stomach grumbles. “Tacos then pack it in?”

Matt isn’t quite ready to call it a night yet, but he has to concede that it is late and it seems unlikely that anything requiring their intervention will crop up. “Yeah, that works. There’s a food cart a block over that tastes good and has never made me sick.”

“A ringing endorsement if I have ever heard one,” Clint grins and starts to climb up from where he is still sprawled on the rooftop. “Lead on, Devil-man.”

The comment Clint made about being old grabs Matt’s attention in an odd way, and he can't let it go. More to the point, he can’t _not_ hear the way all of Clint’s joints seem to be ticking or clicking or popping. It just catches Matt entirely off guard; between Clint doing this professionally and the fact that Matt does most of his fighting with other _enhanced_ folks that can go for longer and take more damage than the average person, it never occurred to him how much they all put their bodies through, or how _impressive_ the archer is. He gets a little lost following that thought, only snapping back to the present when he hears Clint calling his name. 

“Earth to Matt: Come in space cadet,” the big man chuckles, “you ok over there?”

“Yeah,” he says sheepishly, “sorry. I zoned out for a minute.”

“No worries, I do it all the time. Anyway, food?” He pauses and grins at Matt again, “I’ll race you down.” With that, he’s off and running toward the fire escape.

They make their way down the side of the building, laughing and bantering the whole way. Clint makes it to the bottom first, and Matt lands besides him several seconds later. 

“Oh, yeah. So old and feeble,” Matt grumbles, “anyway, it’s this way,” he says and leads them off in search of food. 

“Hotdogs?” Clint asks when they get to a particularly dodgy looking cart that looks a lot like a mail trolly with a can of sterno heating a cookie sheet placed on top.

“Nope,” The smaller man answers excitedly, going so far as to pop the p, “bacon-wrapped. Crappy hotdog, wrapped in bacon, cooked on a pile of onion. Look, I don’t eat garbage very often, so when I do, it tends to be all bad. And these are my favorite.”

Clint outright laughs at that. “Good to know. If it ever comes up, I pretty much only eat garbage, and my favorite food is what I’m eating at the moment.”

“Not pizza?”

“You do know that I mostly eat pizza, right?” Clint asks with a massive grin. 

One fairly ridiculous order of bacon-wrapped hotdogs later, and the two are disappearing down an alley.

“I’m tired and these smell really good,” Clint comments, “wanna just sit on that fire escape and eat? We can head our separate ways when we are done?”

Matt agrees, and before long they were sitting next to each other on the bottom level of a random fire escape, a pile of foil-wrapped lumps between them. 

“Ok, Matty,” Clint manages to get out around a massive bite of food, “these are pretty great. Good suggestion.”

Matt gives a hum of agreement and starts to answer, but is cut off by the screech of rending metal as one corner of the grating they are sitting on breaks away from the building. Before either has a chance to react, the whole thing buckles, and the two men and their food are sent sliding off and into the dumpster below. 

“Well, that sucked,” Clint groans. “You ok?”

“Eh, cut my arm, and I think I landed on dinner, but other than that…” Matt trails off and takes a quick inventory, “I think I’m alright. We cannot tell Jessica about this.”

In place of an actual reply, Matt hears the fake shutter click of a smartphone taking a picture. 

“Whoops,” Clint replies innocently.

With a groan, Matt lets his head fall back on the trash bag propping him up. “That’ll be fun. Anyway, are you ok? This is my building, so we can go to my place to clean up.”

“Could we have gone to your place to eat?” Clint asks wryly, though, by the sound of it, he’s still smiling. 

_‘He smiles_ _a lot’_ Matt’s brain helpfully supplies, but he shoves the thought away. “I mean, we could have,” he wiggles a little bit, “little late for that now, though.”

“Very helpful, Matthew,” Clint says dryly. He sort of rolls to the side and grabs on the lip of the dumpster so he can pull himself out. He hits the pavement and offers his hands to Matt. 

Matt takes them without complaint and let’s Clint haul him upright. “Thanks,” he says as he wipes his hands on his pants. He doesn’t do much, but it makes him feel like he’s doing _something_. “We smell like a dumpster, so… race you to the top?”

“Questionable meat and a rickety fire escape. I must say, Mr. Murdock, you really do know how to show a man a good time,” Clint says in his best highfalutin voice, “but I’m game. As soon as you tell me which one’s yours.”

“Top, I-“ Matt is cut off by Clint jumping and grabbing on to the now bent and slightly swinging fire escape. “Please don’t die. I don’t want to have to explain that.”

Clint doesn’t respond, he just levers himself over so he can grab the side of the ladder up to the next floor, which is still - as far as they can tell - firmly attached to the building. 

“Ok, then,” Matt sighs, and takes off up the side of the building after Clint. 

By some small miracle, the two manage to make it up to Matt’s place without further incident. Clint climbs through the window and looks around Matt’s flat. “I dunno what I expected, but I don’t think this is it. Nice, though.”

“Really?” Matt likes his apartment fine, and really likes the discounted rate he gets because no one else wanted to rent a loft with a picturesque view of a flashing neon billboard, but never really thought of it as being something particularly special or noteworthy. 

Clint just lifts a shoulder. “You’ve been to my place, so…”

“Don’t you live in the tower?”

“Sometimes,” the blonde answers easily. “I mostly live wherever Steve or Natasha are. Or wherever they _aren’t_ , if they happen to be together and mad at me.”

“That is… something.” ‘ _Wow_ ,’ Matt thinks to himself, ‘ _really eloquent, Murdock_.’

“Eh,” Clint says, either not noticing or not acknowledging the puddle of awkward Matt had devolved into, “not to get all ‘tragic backstory time,’ but I never really thought of anywhere as ‘my place’ before Tasha. Even then, I considered her quarters more my place than my actual place. Now ‘my place’ is all over. A janky flat in Brooklyn with a bathroom nicer than the whole building. A suite in Avengers Tower with holes in the walls. A converted hayloft in a ramshackle barn that always smells like cinnamon and I don’t know _why_. I think my entire concept of _home_ at this point is being next to someone I trust enough to take my ears out around.”

“That sounds…” Matt trails off. Familiar? Depressing? Sweet? Chaotic? _Something_? Eventually he just gives up. “Eh. I want a drink. Would you like one?”

Clint watches carefully as Matt walks over to the counter, “sure. Thank you.” He pauses for a moment, “your arm is bleeding pretty good.” When he gets no response, he decides to take over. “Yeah, I can pour whiskey. Go get your first aid kit or whatever and we’ll patch each other up. Sound like a plan?”

“Uh… yeah. Yeah. I… uh…” Matt trails off as he tries to think of where the bucket that contains his supplies is, and if he can remember the last time he restocked it, well… they’d figure it out soon enough. “Let me get… it,” he finally answers, words trailing behind him as he makes his way to the bedroom. 

While Matt’s doing that, Clint gets the drinks poured and pulls out his phone to text Steve.

[ **Sweetheart: __** _We’re fine, but there was a minor misstep and we’re a little dinged up. We need to get Matt one of Tony’s kits. I am pretty sure he’s only got some gauze and electrical tape._ ]

Three dots indicating Steve is typing pop up on the screen so quickly Clint thinks it’s a coincidence, that there is no way he had sent it that quickly, let alone that Steve had received it _and_ been able to read it. 

He should know by now not to underestimate his boyfriend.

[ **Steeeeb: __** _Should I bring one now? Actually fine or trying to walk off a bullet wound fine? What is a “minor misstep?” Do you need an ambulance? Or a lawyer?_ ]

[ **Sweetheart: __** _Oh, I *got* a lawyer 😏_ ]

[ **Sweetheart: __** _You changed my name to sweetheart and I’m being lecherous. Now I look like a monster. Thanks, dick_ ]

[ **Sweetheart: __** _Actually fine. Fire escape collapsed. Hotdogs and a dumpster broke our fall. Cuts and scrapes and smell like restaurant trash._ ]

[ **Steeeeb:** _Gross. I’m gonna tell Jess you landed in another dumpster._ ]

[ **Sweetheart:** _You talk a lot of shit, but well placed dumpsters have saved my life on more than one occasion._ ]

[ **Steeeeb:** _I am just the luckiest fella._ ]

[ **Steeeeb: __** _The movie is almost over, and Jess looks beat, so we’re about done here. I’ll meet you at home?_ ]

[ **Sweetheart:** _Yeah. You’ll probably beat me, but I don’t think by much._ ]

Matt comes out of the bedroom holding a bucket and looking triumphant, “I remembered to restock it, at some point. Which means either Karen or Foggy actually did it, but whatever. I will thank them for it tomorrow.”

“Cool. That’s nice of them, that they take care of you,” Clint answers. “I’ll start. Now, gimme the bucket and strip.”

“Mr. Barton,” Matt demurred, “are you always so forward?”

“Only when I see something I like, darlin’,” Clint says with a cheesy southern accent, “but seriously, the sooner we get out of these clothes the sooner we can burn them and get the stench out of your apartment.”

With a grimace, Matt agrees and starts to skin out of his shirt. For a quick beat, he missed his red suit; sure, it was a hell of a lot more difficult to get out of, but with it, he wouldn’t have gotten cut in the first place. “Yeah, ok. That sounds good.”

Matt hands Clint the bucket and receives his drink in return, and then Clint is dragging a bar stool around the kitchen counter to the sink. “Sink’s easiest to clean, only reason it didn’t happen at our place is because Steeb had already dragged Jess over,” he explains.

“Steeb?” Matt asks with a chuckle. “You really have a system. It’s fine, you don’t need to do all this. I can take care of it.”

“Matt,” Clint says, “why make this harder on yourself? We’ll get it cleaned up and bandaged and it’ll heal faster and better and with less pain. Plus, I’m pretty fast, so it won’t take long.”

“I do know how to do this.” Matt isn’t pouting. Definitely not. “I might not have all your practice, but…”

Clint chuckles, “Matty, this isn’t even just my job; for a couple decades _this_ was _my life_. Plus, I’m technically an EMT.”

“Technically?” Matt is pretty sure Clint isn’t lying, but the boundaries of _technically_ were pretty nebulous.

Clint takes it in stride and chuckles. “My cover actually became an EMT on one of my early under covers, so I guess it was part of my SHEILD training, but if there’s any sort of recertification or anything, I haven’t done it, just a lot of patching up myself and my team. Even before that, I was the one who’d patch up my brother ‘n’ me. Promise I know what I’m doing.” He pauses for a minute, and his stance changes just a little, “Now please, take off your shirt so I can get my hands on you.”

It isn’t even the first time Clint’s said something like that to him _tonight_ ; definitely not the first time they’ve tended to each other’s wounds, but something about this feels different to Matt. He is acutely aware of how _close_ Clint is, how sure but gentle his touches are. 

“I knew you were hot, but damn, Matty,” Clint says around a grin when he finally is able to get his hands on Matt and maneuver him into position. “That come with the powers, too?”

Yes, it did, but not to the extent Clint was feeling; that is all nerves and embarrassment. _‘What the fuck, Matthew_?’ he questions himself. _‘Get it together. This isn’t the first time he’s touched you._ ’ “Ah, kinda, yeah.”

Off to his side, Clint gives a hum of understanding and he sets to work cleaning the blood off Matt’s arm. “Steve’s the same, but he’s closer to ‘surface of the sun’ hot.”

“Oh yeah,” Matt answers without thinking, and then immediately beats himself up for it. ‘ _Oh, come on, Murdock. You can do better than_ that.’ 

“Yeah. It’s nice when it’s cold,” Clint continues, oblivious to his companion’s mortification. 

“Guess it probably sucks in the summer though, yeah?” He leans in to examine the wound on Matt’s bicep. “So, I think we can get away with just ‘fly stitches, BUT, that means you actually need to take it easy for… do you know how quickly you heal in comparison to us normies?”

“I, uh, don’t know.”

Next to him, Clint shifts his focus entirely to watching Matt, and it’s _a lot_.

“How do you not know?”

“I…” Matt shrugs lamely, “I just don’t? ‘Normies’ don’t tend to get the kind of injuries I do, so I’ve never really been able to compare and contrast.”

“Ok, fair enough. You wanna ask the nurse?”

He doesn’t, but he’d rather ask than have to deal with stitches. He lifts a shoulder in a shrug and hands Clint his phone. “‘Kay.”

[ **DareDevil** : _Hi. This is Hawkeye. How quickly does DD heal? He’s fine, but he’s got a decent cut and I’m trying to decide between butterfly stitches and actual sutures._ ]

Text sent, Clint sets the phone down. “Kay, I’m just going to put some gauze on it for now. Give her a bit to respond. In the meantime, I’m going to clean up this nasty looking scrape on your back.”

“I am pretty sure she’s working tonight, so-“ Matt is cut off by his phone. 

“Text from Night Nurse.”

“Well, nevermind,” Matt says absently as he holds his thumb over the unlock button and commands the phone, “read it.”

[ **Night Nurse:** _Not quite twice as fast as unenhanced, but go with sutures anyway. Save me the hassle._ ]

“Hey.” Matt knows he’s just grumping at his phone, and she’s probably right, but he’s sore and hungry, and a bit miffed at the dig.

“Aw, it’s ok, Matty,” Clint says cheerfully. “You’ve bled through the gauze, so I was going to sew you up, anyway.”

With a bit of a harrumph, Matt slouches in his chair to pout, and instantly regrets it. It hadn’t registered when Clint mentioned it, but now he is acutely aware of the fact that the pain in the lower side quarter of his back feels like his skin is full of flaming rocks. It had been drowned out in the din of everything else - being hungry, the sharp sting of the cut on his arm, the deep ache radiating from his hip where his ass had landed on what he was pretty sure was a bowling ball, being suddenly and inexplicably all twitterpated and half-stupid because of _Clint_ \- and only makes itself known when he slides his bare back along the back of the chair. He hisses and jerks in his seat. “Son of a bitch. That’s new.”

“Yeah, I didn’t get a good look at it. When I get this one closed, I’ll check it out and we’ll go from there.” Clint keeps up a steady stream of chatter as he moves from organizing his supplies to positioning Matt. Matt does a decent job of masking it, but the way he tenses up when Clint mentions looking at his back doesn’t escape the _master spy’s_ notice - of course it doesn’t - but he gives no indication either way, just keeps on going, only stopping when he finishes pulling his gloves on. 

“K, Red. I’m gonna start with the poking. Can’t do anything about the pain though, so that sucks. You good to go?”

“Yup. Just super.” Matt takes a deep breath and let’s it out slowly. “Let’s just do it.”

“That’s the spirit,” Clint says cheerfully as he starts working. “You want me to tell you what I’m doing? Catch you up on gossip, news, or podcasts? Sing? Stay as quiet as I possibly can?”

It has never been so difficult for Matt to stay still. Ever, in his life. He is absolutely sure of it. This isn’t even the first time that _Clint_ has stitched him up. He is familiar with all of this, so why _now_ is he finding it impossible to keep his ass in one place? “I, uh… talk? I guess?” He winces, but it’s definitely more at himself than the pain. “No, you’re fine. I am just… scattered. Anyway, uh. You can talk. Please.” He closes his eyes and winces again; this time entirely at himself. 

“Uh, ok,” Clint drawls, “about what? I guess you know how stitches work.”

“I’m pretty familiar, yeah,” The redhead confirms. “Tell me about… something. I-if you want.” He hates the way his voice shakes, but the focus to make it stop is just outside his reach at the moment. 

Clint very gently finishes up what he’s working on right now, and takes a half step back from Matt. “Hey, you with me, Murdock? You ok?” His voice is light, but serious. 

“Yeah, just a minor crash. All the exertion and then the injuries, and not enough food,” Matt tries for a smile he hopes doesn’t come off as a grimace.

“Mmm. Fair enough. If you are ok for now, I am going to get these last two knots done and then I’ll text Steve to bring us food.” Clint watches Matt nod, but cuts him off before he could say anything, “And before you start, he’ll be thrilled to be useful. That work for you?”

Food and getting to see Steve sounds great. Honestly, now that he is calming down and his body was cooling off, anything that gets calories in him and then him in bed sounds great. Not that Steve was going to… but… _fuck._ That entire train of thought gets shoved into a box for _Later Matt_ to deal with. “Works for me,” he eventually gets out. 

“Alright, let me get this done,” Clint says as he resumes closing the wound, “what should Stevie bring us? Anything sound good? If you ask me, I am going to say pizza, and if we leave it up to Steve… we’re probably getting sandwiches. The upshot is he makes a pretty boss sandwich.”

“‘Boss sandwich?’” Matt quirks an eyebrow at Clint, glad for the distraction.

With a laugh, Clint answers, “yes. Us old folks used to describe something good or cool as ‘boss.’ Or maybe that was just me. Either way, I’m old and I talk funny.”

“So old, right,” Matt sniffs.

“I prolly got ten on you. Easy,” Clint answers, “but no, I’m not Steve or anything.”

Matt cocks his head at that. “Isn’t he actually my age?”

“Maybe,” Clint shrugs as he snips the thread and checks his work. “don’t know how old you are. But he’s…” Clint looks at the ceiling while he does the math in his head, “thirty-three. Just over.” 

“So, older than me, but not by much,” Matt comments, somehow surprised by that, though he had no reason for it.

“How not by much?” Clint put a quick bandage on the wound, knowing Steve would bring one of their super first aid kits, and Clint would be replacing the dressing. He tried to clean up quickly so he could talk to Steve.

“I turn thirty later this month.”

Clint sets down the supplies he’s holding turns to look at Matt. “Aw. Baby Matty. When’s your birthday?”

“You can’t be _that_ much older than me,” Matt comments dryly. 

“Flatterer. I’m 44. And you didn’t tell me, so; what day is your birthday?” Clint has everything cleaned up and grabs his phone to call Steve. 

Matt forgets a bit and grumbles out, “the 21st.”

“Good to know,” Clint says with a wink and a bit of a smirk. “Kay, gonna order food now, you ok if I put it on speaker?”

“Uh, yes? But I thought Steve was going to bring food?”

“Well, yeah,” Clint shrugs, “still delivery. Anyway, Calling.”

The first ring hasn’t ended when Steve picks up, like he was just _sitting_ there, _waiting_ for the call he had no way of knowing was coming. 

“Clint? Honey? Everything ok?”

“Holy shit, dude, cool your jets,” Clint full on laughs at his boyfriend, “yeah, everything’s fine. You’re on speaker, by the way. We’re mostly undamaged, but we’re hungry. I sorta landed on dinner. Will you please bring us food?”

With a voice so flat it could be used as a straight edge, Steve shared exactly what he thought of that request. “You… want me to deliver a pizza to you.”

“Doesn’t have to be pizza! Dealer’s choice, even. Deliverer’s choice, I guess. Unless Matt has a specific request…” Clint trails off, not sure why Steve’s being so… _whatever_ about this.

“I know you know how to order food. Why are you actually calling?” Dread is laced through his voice, and Matt isn’t sure what is actually going on.”

“Seriously, food.” Clint chuckles again, and Matt is pretty sure he can hear Steve grinding his teeth. “And also maybe clothes that don’t smell like they’ve been in a dumpster, a ride home, and some of the good wound goop. And before you ask, we are both fine - _really fine_ \- but if you’re coming over _anyway_ … may as well bring the good stuff, too, right?”

“Clint…” the dread is Steve’s voice has been replaced with a thrum of _warning_.

“Oh, stop. We are actually fine. Cuts and bruises. Matt got a whole eight stitches and my knee is going to be the size of a cantaloupe tomorrow, but Matt’s always got stitches and my knees are always pissed off about something.” Clint sighs, “I just don’t have it in me to walk home, and I smell bad enough I don’t want to take the _subway_ , so I definitely don’t want to get into a cab smelling like this.”

“We’re pretty rank,” Matt agrees, more to remind himself he’s actually _there_ than anything else. 

“See? I didn’t even force him to say it or anything.”

Steve grumbles a bit, but eventually gives in. Mollified, for now, at least. He and Clint both know that he won’t be any flavor or _happy_ or _convinced they are actually alright_ until he sees for himself. “Kay. What do you want to eat.”

“Matt, what sounds good,” Clint asks.

“Calories.” Matt didn’t quite _grind_ the word out, but he was tired and in pain and hungry. 

“Well, that’s easy, and I don’t care, so whatever you wanna grab.” He pauses for half a tick and adds, “please.”

“Yeah, okay,” Steve agrees, still sounding... _odd_.

Clint sighs, “Steven, I am asking you to come here. If I were trying to hide something, why would I _ask you to come to me_?”

“Because you don’t want me to freak out until I can do something about it.” Steve still sounds odd, but now it sounds odd in a very _pouty_ sort of way. 

“K, Steven, this is nuts. If Matt was seriously hurt, I’d take him to the tower, and,” Clint glances over at the redhead slumped against the counter, “if I were seriously hurt, I’m pretty sure Matt would rat me out in a heartbeat. Seems like he’d be all rat finky like that.”

“‘Rat Finky’” rang out in stereo from both Matt and the phone.

“Yeah, I’m old and I talk weird. Whatever.” Clint laughs, “I am pretty sure that if I were actually hurt not only would Matt know, he’d totally tell you.”

“I would,” Matt confirms, trying to be helpful.

Clint nods vigorously, even though there is no way for Steve to see. “See. He’s a lawyer, so you know he’s telling the truth. Anyway, food and kit and clothes that don’t smell and a ride home? Please?” 

“Yeah, ok,” Steve agrees, sounding a little defeated. “Let me get some things together and I’ll be right over. Text me the address. If I get there and-”

“I _dare_ you to finish that,” Clint cuts in darkly.

“Uhh....” Matt drawls, surprised and vaguely concerned about the turn the call had taken.

“Fair enough. I give,” Steve interrupts, “I’ll be there in a bit. Let me know if something comes up.”

“Sure thing, Love,” Clint answers happily. 

Steve grumbles something that ends in “I love you,” and ends the call. 

“Well, that was fun.” Clint sounds pleased and Matt isn’t sure why, but he can’t make himself care about it. “We’ve got,” he hums and tilts his head, considering something, “half hour, probably a bit more. That should be enough time for me to look at your back and you to get in the shower before Steve gets here.” He watches Matt watch him for a blink or two, before continuing, “that way you’ll be clean when Steve gets here with the super goop. I’ll just put a bit on and bandage you up and we can get out of your hair.”

“Ugh…” is all Matt can manage. Again. “I mean yeah, shit. Uh, that sounds like a plan?”

“Eh, I’m not the man with a plan or anything,” Clint grins wryly, “but I’m pretty solid when it comes to getting into comfy clothes and eating junk food in as little time as possible.” He studies Matt for a couple of seconds. “You ok? You look like you wanna say something.”

“Do you guys always fight like that?” Matt grimaces as soon as he’s done speaking, like it will erase what he just said. “I mean...I don’t know what I mean. You guys aren’t fighting about me?”

He knows he shouldn’t - Matt is being so earnest, and so concerned that he may have caused some sort of _problem_ \- but Clint laughs. 

“Oh, Matty. That’s not a fight. That was just...a stubborn, perpetually worried mother hen looking for trouble where there isn’t any, and a stubborn asshole who is real sick of having an American Icon chewing on his ass for perceived infractions. And saying it like that doesn’t make it sound like _not_ a fight, I recognize, but it really wasn’t.”

“So...it sounded like a fight, and when you explain it, it definitely sounds like a fight, but it isn’t?” Matt’s brows are so furrowed it looks almost painful, “I...Uh, you guys aren’t fighting about me, though, right?”

“Uh, no,” Clint laughs some more and starts repositioning Matt so he can get a better look at the scrapes on his back, “that was 100% about me. And, in his defense, I have tried to ‘walk off bullet holes’ or whatever it was he said. Not in a long time, but...you get caught trying to remove a cast in a ceiling vent with your IV pole and people start doubting your ability to care for yourself. In _my_ defense, they only put the cast on as a precautionary measure, to try and keep me still, not because it was - strictly speaking - _medically necessary_. It was uncomfortable and itchy, so I tried to get rid of it. Again, not a particularly bright maneuver, but it was also a bunch of years ago. He just has a long memory and a lot of worry to go around. Besides,” Clint shoots him a lascivious wink, “we may fight _over_ you, but not _about_ you. ...can you tell when I wink?”

Matt sinks into the position Clint’s got him arranged in and tries to stay as relaxed as he can while Clint gets to work cleaning the… _debris_ out of his wound. It’s about all he can manage, since his brain short circuits a bit at the _fighting over_ him part, but he doesn’t have the cognitive capacity to deal with any of that at the moment, so he ignores the blush he knows is spreading across his skin and opts to go with the easy part of what Clint said, “When it is that exaggerated, yes. I think I catch most expressions, but I have no way of knowing unless you tell me. You’re harder to read than most, if that makes any difference.”

“Really?” Clint sounds genuinely surprised. “I’m sorta a gooney guy. I figured I’d be pretty easy to...feel? Hear?”

“Feel, hear, everything but see.” Matt shrugs, “you can be, you can also be more _consistent_ than anyone else I think I’ve ever heard.”

Clint pauses his work and moves so he can see Matt’s face, “really? If your... _enhancements_ are anywhere near where I think they are, that’s a hell of a compliment. But, shit, that’s got to be unnerving.”

“So you always hide?” Matt grimaces around his words. _Again_. Fuck. “I mean...not hide. But...mask? I guess? But everything?”

Clint shrugs and makes a noncommittal humming noise. In reality he’s trying to figure out how he can watch Matt talk while he works on the other man’s back. From where Clint sits, this is a pretty big issue, if only because it’s weird and - he imagines, at least - something Matt’s only really experienced from _bad people_. _‘Not like he’s wrong_ ,’ Clint thinks to himself, but now isn’t the time to try and unpack that dumpster. _Never_ is the time to unpack that dumpster, especially around someone like Matt. “It’s...a habit. I don’t do it all the time. I guess it’s gotta be pretty weird for you, though.”

“It’s impressive,” Matt answers without thinking. Not that he has any time to worry about it; Behind him, Clint drags the warm washcloth over one of the scars on his lower back, and it has him sucking in a sharp breath. He lets it out slowly and tries to hide the reaction. 

“You alright?” Clint asks gently. 

“Yeah,” Matt squeaks out before clearing his throat and trying again. “Yeah, ‘m fine. Just sensitive, and sometimes my scars...react differently than they should when they heal. It feels…” Matt searches his head for something to say other than ‘really good’ while also squirming awkwardly in his seat in an attempt to hide just _how_ good. “Different. I just wasn’t expecting it.” There. Good. And he didn’t even need to lie.

“Oh, shit,” Clint winces sympathetically, “I’ve got a couple that ended up wired a little wonky on the repair, and it sucks. I’m done with that bit, though, so there’s that.”

“Uh...yeah.” Matt shakes his head, to clear out the _noise_ of his thoughts. He would have happily gone the rest of his life without Clint ever finding out about all of his scars. That ship sailed a few weeks back, though for a minute there it looked like that would be the beginning and end of it. 

They keep going like that for a bit. Clint explains what he’s doing, and they trade stories in between, and ten or so minutes later Clint straightens up. “Ok, I think that’s it. You go shower, and I’ll give it another once over when you’re clean and Steve’s here with the good shit.”

Right. Steve’s coming. Matt’s just bared the worst of his scars to Clint - _literally_ \- why should Steve miss out? He’s being cynical and he knows it, but… he sighs. “Yeah. Sounds like a plan. I’m going to go...do that. Help yourself to whatever. I think I have ketchup and crackers, but they’re all yours if you want ‘em.”

Clint laughs at that. “I’m good to wait for Steve. Enjoy your shower.” He starts cleaning up the mess they’d made. “I can keep myself entertained.”

Matt doesn’t know what to say to that, so he just nods and makes his way to his room. All of this is crazy and overwhelming, but the isolating white noise and general comfort of a warm shower sounds fantastic so he decides to focus on that instead of worrying about shit he can't control. Somewhere in the back of his head he can actually hear Jessica laughing at him for it. Whatever. 

While Matt showers Clint finishes cleaning up and when he’s done with that, he plops himself down on one of Matt’s stools and pulls out his phone to get in some quality Diggy’s Adventure gaming in on his phone. It’s all for naught, though; almost as soon as he gets the game open, Steve texts him letting know he’s at the building and on his way up. 

“Sorry, Diggy. Maybe later, bro,” he says sadly to his phone as he puts it to sleep and sets it on the counter.

Steve shows up surprisingly quickly, and Clint really should have expected that he’d just run the stairs. “You’re a goon, love. Thank you,” Clint presses a kiss to Steve’s cheek and helps him unload the suspiciously heavy grocery bag he’s holding. “You bring an entire deli?”

“I’m hungry, you’re hungry, Matt’s hungry. Even if we weren’t, _you know_ ” he makes a vague gesture at himself, “we’d still eat a lot.”

Some part of Clint wants to be a pedantic asshole and point out that neither he nor Matt are super soldiers and they don’t require the bonkers amount of fuel that Steve does, but he knows that Steve’s right; even without the enhancements Steve and Matt have, the three of them are still very active, large men and they eat a lot. It’s a fair point, and that has never stopped Clint from making fun of Steve, and he can’t see changing that now. “Yeah, I know, but seriously, Love, you could feed the building with this.”

“I could not.” Steve laughs at him. “C’mon, let’s get this unpacked so we can feed Matt. He...didn’t sound great.”

“Yeah…” Clint wants to tell Steve about the scars and...all of it, but now isn’t the time. “I think he’s just hangry and tired. This’ll help. So will the shower.”

Clint changes into the clean clothes steve brought while the other blonde unpacks the food, then they work side by side, assembling the sandwiches and plating the food Steve brought, and by the time Matt walks out of his room dressed in clean pajamas, there are three plates full of towering pastrami sandwiches, chips, and carrot sticks. 

Matt slips onto one of the stools and takes the offered plate with a small laugh. “The Anna Nelson special.”

“What’s that, Matty?” Steve asks, curious.

“Foggy’s family owns a butcher shop and deli. Fully loaded pastrami sandwiches are their comfort food.” Matt explains. “This is… nice. Thank you.”

They eat in companionable silence, all of them tired. Eventually they’re done eating and Matt… looks wilted. Tired to the bone. 

Clint lets out a jaw-popping yawn. “Not that I don’t love your company, Matt,” he starts, “but we’re all beat. Steve brought one of the big first aid kits, and you’re going to have to deal with putting it away. For now, let’s get you gooped up and we’ll head out.”

“That...sounds good.” Matt says. He no longer sounds so down; now he just sounds exhausted.

In short order Clint gets Matt bandaged up while Steve cleans up dinner, and a few minutes after that Matt is collapsing against the door he’s just closed on the two blondes. _What a fucking night_ , he thinks as he drops into bed.

* * *

Steve and Clint head back to the tower, Steve’s driving and neither really talk. It’s late, Clint’s tired, and Steve doesn’t want to crowd him. They make it to their place and Clint makes a beeline for the shower. It’s a long standing policy that neither showers alone unless they are the only one home or they specifically ask, but Clint goes through the motions so quickly he’s about done by the time Steve’s ready to join him.

“Unless you smell, can we just bed?” Clint asks, sounding a little pathetic.

“Yeah, of course, honey,” Steve says, concern tinting his voice. “You ok?”

Clint sighs. “Yeah, I… let’s get in bed, and I’ll tell you. I, uh.” He sighs, “Will you just hold me for a bit?”

Between the tone in his voice and the fact that he’s actually asking, Steve can tell something is wrong. He’s trying not to worry - Clint will tell him if it’s important - but he’s never been all that good at it. 

“Yeah, of course.” Steve pauses, and Clint cuts off his train of thought. 

“I’m fine, Love,” Clint says with a little laugh. “You are thinking really loud. I just…”

Clint slides into bed and waits for Steve, who is a little slow on the uptake at the moment, but he eventually gets with the program and crawls into bed, too. They spend a few beats settling in, Clint eventually curling up at Steve’s side, head resting on Steve’s chest. 

“He’s all marked up, Love.” Clint says quietly. “It’s… most of them are old, and angry. It looks like he was caned.” He sighs. “I mean, I knew. I kinda saw it that first night, but… Steve, he’s more marked up than I am. Jagged, nasty shit. I can’t…”

Steve presses a kiss to the top of Clint’s head. He hasn’t seen the marks like Clint has, but he’s seen enough. And, he knows exactly how Clint feels; it’s the same way Steve feels about Clint and all his scars. 

“I signed up for this. I’ve _earned_ all of mine and then some,’ Clint sighs. “He was just thrown into this shit against his will, and then whatever caused _that_ … fuck, Steve.”

Steve’s arms tighten around him, and he presses another kiss into the still-damp hair at the top of his head. His fingers ghost over the scar on the top of Clint’s shoulder, vicious and _old_ and caused by the buckle of Clint’s father’s belt. Considering that the man died when Clint was six...Steve wonders how he could have _signed up_ for that. But madness lives down that path; he knows Clint won’t appreciate the thought, so he gives Clint another squeeze and let’s it drift away. They stay like that for a long while before Steve breaks the silence. “You really like him, don’t you.”

Clint craned his neck up to glare at his boyfriend. “Yeah, you know that. And I kinda like everybody.”

“No...you...like I do.” 

“I am not sure what you mean. Or I’m not sure how you like him. But if it’s a lust thing? Fuck yes I do; have you seen him?”

“Yeah, that’s kinda what started all of this. Or...did it not? Did you...? I don’t...” 

Clint pats at Steve’s cheek. “Don’t work so hard thinking about it, Love. Yes, I have a bit of a crush on Matt. Of course I do. He’s hot and stupid and can kick my ass. I have a type.” Clint sighs, “but, as far as I know, he doesn’t know about it. And no, you didn’t either. No one did, because it’s insignificant. I get crushes all the time; I always have.They fuck off as quickly as they show up, usually. Once upon a time I’d pursue it for a hookup or whatever, but honestly it’s more fun now knowing there is absolutely no chance at it going _anywhere_.”

Steve thinks about that for a minute. His mind has been running flat out since he and Darcy went their separate ways earlier today. “Do you want it to?”

Clint props himself on his arm to get a better look at Steve, “I’m not going to cheat on you, Steven. We’ve had this talk. A lot. I used to fuck around. A lot. Past tense. Now I just fuck _you_. A lot.” Clint pokes his nose, “stop grimacing. ‘Make love to you a lot’ or whatever softer way of saying the same thing didn’t fit with the rhythm I’d set, and is also not a thing I’m ever really going to say.”

“Thank you, dear,” Steve says flatly, “you are so reassuring.”

“Hey, no, stop,” Clint cups Steve’s face, “I’m with you. I love you. That’s not going to change because I had fun racing a ninja up the side of a couple of buildings.”

“Yeah, yes. I know, but...” Steve trails off and runs his fingers through his hair, “I don’t think I meant it like that.”

“Steve, I can’t read your mind.”

“Yeah, I know. I mean...it wasn’t accusatory. It was...would you want to?”

“I’m not going to fuck around on you. Do you not believe that?” Clint is trying very hard to not get mad, but it’s either that or be insulted.

“No! I mean, yes, I believe that! Why am I yelling?” Steve stops and takes a breath-

“You are always yelling,” Clint interrupts. “You are a very loud person.”

“I- thanks,” Steve said flatly, but much more quietly, “I know you aren’t going to ‘fuck around’ on me or cheat on me or however you want to word it. I know that. But...that’s not what I mean. I mean sort of the opposite. Maybe.”

Clint just blinks at him. “Explain that, please.”

“I mean...we never really talked about it. I don’t know. Have you wanted to, I dunno, be with someone else or other people or whatever and haven’t?”

“Honestly, haven’t really thought about it. Either it wasn’t an option or I didn’t know it was, so it didn’t matter. Doesn’t matter. Why? What am I missing here, Steve?”

Steve blinks at him a couple of times, thinking of how to turn the tangled mess of thoughts in his head into words that make sense. “I, uh...y’know what...are you monogamous.”

‘ _I have not cheated on you_.’ ‘ _I will not cheat on you_.’ _‘What did I do wrong to get us here?_ ’ A whole series of terrible thoughts swim through Clint’s head, some his own confusion, some stirred up by the ghosts of relationships past, but he can freak the fuck out about that later, hopefully after Steve falls asleep. Right now, though, he knows Steve just wants an answer. 

“No.”

Steve nods at that, but doesn’t say anything, and Clint feels like his skin is about to crawl right the fuck off his body.

“Please don’t tell me you didn’t cheat on me,” Steve says softly, “I know. I just...” he looked up at the ceiling and sighed, “I know this is stupid and I won’t do it again, but, I was talking to Darcy,” Steve laughed at Clint’s snort, “yeah, I know, but I actually think it helped. She said Sam told her to make fun of me for my crush on ‘pajama dude,’ and I kinda snapped at her about it and it turned into a whole thing.”

“Let me guess,” Clint said fondly, “you told her everything while you did her nails?”

“...we made cookies, butthead. But, anyway, she gave me some stuff to think about, I guess. She think’s I might actually be demi-sexual? Which seemed really off at first, but then I got to _know_ him, and, yeah...”

“I can see that, Captain No-Chill.”

Steve sticks his tongue out at Clint, “yes, thank you. Anyway, yeah, I think she’s right, but then...” 

“What does that mean about Matt, yeah?”

“Yeah, that’s about the lay of it,” Steve confirms. 

“Steve, are _you_ monogamous?”

“I don’t know. I don’t...think so.”

“Okay, well,” Clint says as evenly as he can, “you’re looking for an intro to open relationships course, and Matt is definitely advanced level.”

“Ok, I _know_ I don’t want _that_. Hell, _you_ know I don’t. I...can’t even imagine it. I _did_ it, kinda, the quickie hookup with a rando thing, and still can’t imagine it.”

“Ok, first, _please_ spend less time with Darcy, a-“

Steve cuts him off to ask, “Did you hook up with her?” He pauses a beat before clarifying, “before me.”

“Yeah, for a while. She’s a lot of fun and we always had a great time together. My only issue _here_ is that her words sound really...horror movie-y in your voice. _Anyway_ ,” he pauses and looks at Steve, who gives him a little nod to go on, “if you don’t want ‘quickie-rando’ hookups, or an open relationship, or whatever, then what _do_ you want?”

“This,” Steve says honestly, giving Clint a little squeeze. “Always this. Clint you are so much more than I ever thought I could have. I love you fiercely and I believe that I am a better person because you are in my life. I don’t want to lose this. Ever. And if...” he trails off. Never in a score’s score of lifetimes would he have _ever_ imagined he’d be having a conversation like this. Fuck’s sake, ten years ago - for him - a conversation like this could be life threatening. “ _If_ there’s something else, this doesn’t change. It’s a part of this. Or this is a part of it.” He stops and chews on his lip. “If that makes any sense.”

“It does, I think. You want this, but with Matt, too?”

It’s Steve’s turn to poke Clint in the nose, “Not necessarily Matt. But, maybe, someone. I mean, it’s not likely, I know that. Even if we were normal, that’s a crazy thing to ask: hey, wanna jump in the middle of an established couple? Yeah, no. But then there’s the fact that we are definitely not normal, in any way. I know it can’t...I guess I didn’t realize it was an option _for me_ , even though it isn’t really _an option_ for me.”

“Love,” Clint says affectionately, and punctuates it with a kiss to Steve’s forehead, “you watch too many teen girl movies. And I’m glad you told me. I...wouldn’t be opposed to that, but, you’re right, it’s a long shot. And, look, yes, before you I could, would, and did have sex with anyone that wanted to have sex with me. It was fun, or it could be. I don’t miss it, and I wouldn’t go back to it. A whole lot has changed since then, and I just can’t do that anymore, so stop feeling guilty about it.”

“You didn’t have to say that,” Steve says, with a little smile, “but thank you.”

“Steve, I do,” Clint says as he wiggles into his boyfriend’s side, resting his cheek on Steve’s chest. “I don’t do the squishy feelings thing well, that’s all you, but...you are so much more than I ever thought I’d have, too. I...didn’t think I was built that way. I love you, and I’m glad you choose to spend your time with me.”

“This is weird,” Steve says a minute or so later.

“We’re weird,” Clint answers.

“You’re not mad?”

“Steve, do you want me to be?”

“No.” It sounds a touch hangdog coming out of Steve’s mouth.

“Good. ‘Cause ‘m not. But I will be if you ask me again.”

“Fair enough,” Steve concedes, then, “I like Matt.”

“You do.”

“I _like_ like Matt.” Steve clarifies.

“I’m going to _kill_ kill Jess.”

“Stop, you will not.” Steve knows he should let it go. He knows, but he can’t. “But you’re not mad I like-like Matt?”

“No, Steve, I’m not. You can’t help it, you told me about it, and I don’t believe you’re going to up and dump me to run off with him. If nothing else, my biceps are nicer, and you’ve got a weird arm thing.” 

“Mmm,” Steve hums, running his fingers under the cuff of Clint’s t-shirt sleeve, “might just have a weird _your_ arms thing.”

“Lucky for you, they’re all yours.”

Steve makes a contented little sound and lays there for a bit, idly tracing patterns on the skin of Clint’s arm “do you like-like Matt, too?” 

“I was almost asleep, you dickweasel,” Clint huffs. “Yeah, of course I do. I’ve been fighting alongside him for a bit now and _holy fuck_. Plus, y’know, he looks like that. And that man is so not fucking funny, _At. All_. but he’s so goddamned adorable about it? Yeah, I do.”

They laid there for another few minutes before Steve had another thought. “What if-“

He completely missed Clint’s hand grabbing for the far corner of the pillow, as was cut off when Clint gave a swift yank, pulling the pillow out from under Steve’s head and over his face. “It is bedtime. We are quiet now, talky-man. Some of us are mere mortals and require sleep. If you can be quiet nod your head, if not...go murder some punching bags or run to Montreal or something.”

The pillow wiggles when Steve nods, and Clint pulls it from his face. “I love you, Steve,” he says and kisses Steve’s cheek, “I’m going to sleep now. We’ll deal with this trash fire later.”

“K. You forgot your ears,” Steve answers as he gently removes Clint’s hearing aids, “I love you. Sleep well and sweet dreams.”

* * *

Monday, 10/22/18

“It is so weird describing pictures to you.”

“Downside of being blind.”

Jess’s reply is cut off by Karen tapping on the door. She pushes it open and sticks her head in. “Mr. Barton just called. He apologized profusely for the short notice, but he’s coming in now to go over - and I quote - _that whatchyamafuck contract thingy_. He didn’t specify which one, so have fun with that. Hopefully he brings more cookies.”

She pulls her head back and closes the door behind her, leaving Jess shooting a strange look at Matt.

 _“Mister Barton_ brings you cookies?” Jess isn’t incredulous, but...

“Steve bakes.” Matt bites his cheek trying to smother a grin, but mostly fails. He can’t help but think about cupcakes sitting on his counter at home. The thoughtful, unexpected, and delicious birthday present from Steve yesterday after church.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you have a crush on _Mister Barton_.” Jess says dryly.

Matt shrugs in place of an actual answer, a poorly hidden smile on his face. 

That stops Jess dead in her tracks. “Wait, what?”

 _“What_ what?” Matt shrugs. “If I try to deny it, you’re going to give me shit, and then it will be a whole thing. So.” He shrugs again. “Yes, before you ask. I am _very_ aware he’s taken.”

Jess snorts a laugh. “You know, just because you can’t see you pout doesn’t mean I can’t.”

What’s left of the smile drops off his face and Matt shrugs. Again.

“Just.” Jess sighs and chooses her words carefully. “Be careful. It is one thing to go poking holes in your own happiness, but… they’re solid. They’ve got something good. Something hard to get a hold of, and even harder to hold onto.”

“Oh, believe me, I know.” He laughs darkly. “I hate this, and if I could make it _go away_ I would. Instead I just come up with new and interesting ways to fuck myself over.”

“Oh, yeah, you’ve got ‘hate’ written all over your face.”

“You know what I mean. Or you don’t. I’m not sure I know what I mean.” He prides himself on the fact he didn’t stick his tongue out at her. 

Several long beats pass between them, when Jessica straightens up a bit and turns to face Matt.

“Huh.”

With a large sigh, Matt leans back in his seat. She clearly wants him to ask, and he’s pretty sure he’s going to regret it, but… “Ok, I’ll bite. Is there something on your mind, Ms. Jones?”

“Well, I know with all the ninja training and whatever you’re ambidextrous.”

“Okay…”

“Didn’t realize you were also _ambisextrous.”_

“That’s Foggy bad, Jessica.”

“I’m pretty proud of it. But…”

“But,” Matt answers exaggeratedly, “you weren’t the only one?” He shrugs again. “Honestly, it really just never occurred to me. Until it did.”

“But… it did?”

“Yup. Laying in a dumpster with a lap full of archer. It wasn’t my first dumpster epiphany, and we both know it won’t be my last.”

“That is not a thing anyone should ever say.”

“And yet,” Matt says almost smugly, “we both know it’s true.”

“And you’re… ok?” Jess has zero idea of what to say here. Matt suffers nothing silently, except for the shit that is actually _killing_ him. She thinks highly of the guy, sure, but this definitely seems like the sort of thing Matthew Murdock would normally freak the fuck out about.

“With what? Being not straight? Or having a thing for a married couple?” Matt drums his fingers on the desk, not sure what to say because he isn’t sure where to _start_. “Because, I guess, the latter bothers me more than the former, but I’m happy chalking it up to a weird upbringing and me being me. Developing feelings isn’t something I _do_. Tried it twice, and, somehow, it ended badly three times. It’s stupid, but... I think I’m just making up for lost time.”

“Lost time being, what? Into dudes?” Jessica is not buying this. She’d be thrilled for him, if she weren’t bracing for the inevitable existential panic that she knows is just waiting to erupt from the often melodramatic redhead across the desk from her.

“Jessica…” Matt sighs, “… the entire concept of _preference_ in general didn’t occur to me until I met Foggy. I missed that whole ‘figuring yourself out’ phase that should have happened somewhere in between the nuns, the ninjas, and law school. Shit’s sake, you were there when I figured out I liked coffee as more than a sleep substitute. This is… like that. I’m an object in motion, they’re an outside force. Honestly. That’s it.”

“Your life’s a trip, Murdock.” She slouches a bit in her seat and watches him for… something. “So, it’s that easy?”

“In general, probably not. Personally, I had a harder time comeing to terms with the realization that I fucking hate spinach.” This is about the last conversation Matt thought he would ever have, and he doesn’t know what else to say. “Look, nothing can come of this, and I know it. It’ll go away, and you’ll be able to make fun of me about it whenever you want. And Clint’s outside, so we’ve got about two minutes before he gets here.”

“Hey, I’m mostly just surprised you have taste outside of _bad_ ,” Jess says dryly before softening just a touch, “my longest term relationship was when I was literally out of my mind, so I am the last person to comment on any relationship related _anything_ , but… just don’t hurt them. Or yourself.” 

“I think in this case, my usually hot garbage philosophy of ‘what they don’t know can’t hurt them’ may actually come in handy. Yeah?”

Before Jess could answer, Karen was pushing the door open, “Mr. Barton’s here for you, Matt.”

Across from him, Jess snickers as pushes herself out of the chair. 

“What’s so funny?” Clint asks her when he walks in.

“Nothing,” Matt answers quickly. “She’s just dropping off some pictures for another case.

“Yeah, I’m on my way out.” Jess turns to Matt, “See ya, Red,” then to Clint, “ _Mr. Barton_.”

“Yeah,” Clint chuckles, “that’s not creepy at all. Bye, Jess.”

As soon as she’s gone, Clint pulls a paper bag out of his jacket. “Brought you lunch, birthday boy.”

“Bacon wrapped hotdogs.” Matt grins at him. 

“Yup,” Clint confirms. “Hope your chair’s sturdy.”

“It is. Yours, too.” Matt laughs. “You didn’t have to do anything, but thank you for lunch.”

“Yeah, well, I am here for work, too.” Clint gives a little chuckle of his own. “‘M not just here for your pretty face.”

“Fair enough.”

They tuck into their lunch, talking about nothing important, and having a great time. Matt couldn’t have asked for a better birthday.

* * *

Thursday, 12/13/18

It probably should have been surprising how quickly Steve and Jess’s movie nights became a regular thing after that first time when Clint had offered Steve up in apology. Every other Thursday, Clint covered for Jess on patrol - _baby-bug watch_ , as Jess called her tailing Peter to make sure the spiderkid didn’t get into any serious trouble - and she and Steve hunkered down at her place with a vat of sugar-coated sugar, take out, and booze to watch a couple of movies. So far they were still deeply enmeshed in the world of rom-coms; Jess was doing her part to catch him up on what he’d missed. 

Tonight is progressing like any other. They have made their way to the Sandra Bullock portion of Steve’s education and are enjoying _While You Were Sleeping_ and nachos when an errant comment derails things as it spins off into a whole conversation. 

“For real, Steve; I have terrible taste.” Jess snags the remote off the coffee table and pauses the movie. “Even _you_ would judge me."

"' _Even me_ ,’” Steve laughs. “What does that mean?"

"Your ears blush when you talk about movie characters holding hands. It's _sweet_."

"Blushing aside, I wouldn't judge you. Won't, if I ever meet anyone you dated." Steve’s so earnest it is almost unreal, but he absolutely means it.

"You haven't met anyone I've _dated_ , Stagger."

"So... someone you...?"

Jessica grabs a few gummy watermelons from the mixed candy bowl between them, literally grasping for _anything_ to fill the time. Maybe _those_ will keep her stupid mouth shut long enough for her to figure out what the hell to say.

“Jess, you don’t have to tell me.” He’s trying to keep himself from outright laughing at her, but she really does look adorable with a face full of gummy candy. “It’s ok. I just like hearing about it. It sounds like… fun, I guess. Cool, too. I’m just too _me_ for it.”

"Coshyer naish." Jessica nudges him gently, actually chewing before she keeps talking this time. "You are nice and a good friend and a shit." Glancing at the paused screen, Jessica wriggles and rolls her other leg up so she's sideways on the couch and facing Steve. "Look, I normally give zero fucks about sharing, just... With what you said earlier, this is gonna get weird, so -" She gulps in a breath and let's just lets the words out. "- Matt, like over a year ago, behind the place with the possum tag graffiti."

All Steve can do is tilt his head and blink at her, like a confused puppy. That... he knows she wouldn’t lie to him, it isn’t that. It’s just... “Not that I don’t believe you, but none of that sounds, uh, right?”

“I’m sorry,” he adds quickly; the more he thinks about this - the story, the concept, the _words_ \- it just gets harder and harder for him to not laugh. “It just doesn’t. I mean… it doesn’t sound like Matt. Or you, really. And, what, up against an ugly spray painted rat? I’m- Shit. I’m not making fun of you. I just… It’s funny?”

"Have you ever just… not had something to punch?" Jessica sighs, chin dropping into her hand. "I mean, yeah, in hindsight it was funny. I lost a boot, too." Her chuckle is self deprecating. "Oh, yeah; that was definitely _not_ Matt's normal. One off of epic proportions." She aggressively bites through a peach ring and adds, "but there _was_ a great mural there before they painted over it, so don't knock the wall."

He wrinkles his nose at that. “Pretty much anything is better than a giant plague vector.”

"He was still wearing the suit then, which was basically a giant red condom anyway." She cracks herself up with that. But, of course, the humour can only last so long. "Just don’t think less of him for it? He really is a decent guy. I mean, he's an asshole, but we're _all_ assholes, so you know what I mean."

“I mean,” Steve rolls his eyes, “why does nobody believe me? Ever? Anyway,” he looks at Jess, “I’m the _last_ person who can judge someone for gettin’ off behind a dumpster. Why would I judge either of you for something I’ve done?”

“Because, Stagger…” Jess sighs at the big man sitting at the other end of her couch, “you are not that guy. It sounds like a joke. If I text Jamie, what’s he going to tell me?

Steve’s expression darkens a bit, but he’s still smiling, “Oh, he’s going to tell you I’m full of shit, because he thinks it’s funny. As soon as I leave he’ll tell you I was right, because he’s a jerk.” 

He sighs and scrubs a hand across his hairline in a well-worn move. “Look, I get that I’m not cool and whatever, but I assure you: butter _will_ melt in my mouth.” He takes a beat to think about what he just said, and who he just said it _to_. “Wait, I- shit. I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just an old expression.”

"I’m not talking about the dumpster; I’m saying don’t judge him for hooking up with _me."_ Jess’s elbow knocks into his. "I mean, he usually has better taste than that? Or, well, okay, zombie ninja queen not so much, but she was alive and super smart pre- being evil so- Steve, I'm not an idiot, I know what that means." Jessica quirks a brow. "Stagger, you are really _not_ subtle. At all. About _an-y-thing._ "

“Yeah, I know. People tell me often enough.” Steve lets out a sigh that leaves him looking a little deflated. “Look, Sunshine, you know I’ve got a thing for Matt. I have since I first saw him, and you know that, too. I’m still not convinced that isn’t why you decked me. I don’t get it, don’t need to, it just _is_. It’s fine. I’m a lot, I know that, and then there’s Clint, on top of all of it. It’s a lot. Too much. I get it, and I promise I won’t be sad about it forever. Now, can we get back to the movie? I gotta know how she can be so in love with someone who’s eyebrows look like they’re gonna take a blonde hostage and climb the Empire State Building.”

"First off, I was protecting Clint from the gayest hipster to ever burgle an apartment." This time, she has to poke beneath his ribs. "Secondly, as America's Asshole, you do _not_ get to question America's Sweetheart. We haven't even gotten to Gracie Lou Freebush."

He can’t help it, Steve snorts a laugh at that. “Yes, _Hawkeye_ needed protection.” It was his turn to elbow her, “I love Sandy B as much as the next fella, but those eyebrows are scary.”

"Not _Hawkeye_ ; Clint. The man who would totally let someone rob him if he thought they needed the money he doesn’t ever carry. And, yeah, okay, maybe Matty a little." Jess pinches her fingers together. "Teensy bit. But, yeah, she's great, let's roll." Jessica hits play, reaching across to grab and sip Steve's drink since her cup is empty.

The credits are ending, and Jess has totally held it together this whole movie when she sidles into Steve. "So I don’t think you're barking up the wrong tree."

Steve laughs. “Sunshine, I’m not barkin’ up any trees, just an old man with a goofy little crush.” He bites into a gummy worm and chews it thoughtfully, “and even if I was, where would I start if I managed to get whatever is up the tree anyway? Even if this were a normal kinda thing, I’d still have no idea what to do.”

"Okay, the sweet old guy schtick is cute, but, c'mon," Jessica finishes his soda, realizing he might want something to drink and - simultaneously - that she'd maybe have an easier time encouraging him if she didn't have to look at that earnest, hang-dog little frown. "And, I mean, whatever you did with Clint? Or _with Clint_? I, uh- I mean, I dunno if this is an _open_ thing or a _together_ thing, so... Whatever you do when you date?"

“I yelled at him. And then he...did some contortion. And then he bought me a pizza.” It takes him a minute, but he realizes how that sounds. “I didn’t yell at him for nothing. He was stealing soda from one of the SI conference rooms. I… feel I need to add that.”

"So, um, I mean... I don't think Matt is going to _steal_ anything from Tony, but..." Jess has to chuckle. She's heard some of Matt's date ideas - the great romantic ones, and the disaster garbage ones, and the ones that turn near deadly - but nothing quite like that. "But the contortion thing, maybe. Matty's a bendy little bastard. _Especially_ when he's being a shit."

Jessica turns to face him on the couch, nearly gentle as she pokes him in the shoulder. "For real, though; this might be _chick flick night_ , but I'm not gonna help you pass notes to your crush like it's high school."

Steve holds his hands up in surrender, “fair enough, and I’m not asking you to. You did start it, though.” He sighs, and he’s been doing it so much he’s starting to worry he’s going to deflate. “It’s just new and weird for me. Really, it’s the second time I’ve ever felt this. Or been able to, at least, and I dunno what to do about it. I’m sure it’ll go away…. And for the record, the contortion thing wasn’t a euphemism. I dunno if you’ve ever seen Clint actually doing tricks, but it’s pretty cool. Stupid, for sure, but cool.”

"Yeah, I mean… All I know is Matt's bendy. Not Clint levels of _bendy_ , but…" Jess shrugs and lets her brain slink away from the multiple levels of bendy she's considering and how she knows them and why, but- "I mean it, though. No way talking to Matt is worse than jumping out of a plane or getting clocked by a stranger walking into your own apartment, right?"

Steve brings a hand up to his ear and turns his head to the window. “Can you hear that? If you listen real hard, you can hear Bucky laughing at us. You for saying it, me for being me.”

"You joke, but sometimes he sneaks out to the roof. Or little Petey is smoking unfiltered Luckies up by the handler." Jess eyes the window. "You never know..."

“I can only picture that kid smoking if he’s been set on fire,” he laughs, but sobers quickly. “Is that the kinda shit folks say about me?”

Jess quirks an eyebrow at that. "The smoking thing? Or the set on fire bit? Because _on fire_ just brings up the smell of singed van dyke and the sound of bots with chemical extinguishers."

“The smoking bit.” Steve tries to conjure the image in his head, and he just fucking can’t. “ I can’t picture the kid doing anything really wrong, ever. Bein’ annoyin’ or something doesn’t count, but, really the only reason I can think of that that kid’d ever skip class or somethin’ is because he’s off saving the world. I think that’s how people talk about me, and ain’t that a laugh riot?”

"Oh… depends on the people, then?" Jess spent a lot of time trying not to listen, but she's not good at her job for ignoring what she hears. "So, yeah, some people sure, but the internet is a thing that exists. You _are_ the guy that _punched_ the guy that threw a man off a motorcycle and then drove it _into_ traffic, so… I dunno. I think you're at least able to add _badass_ to your totally _fake-_ " Jessica rolls her eyes. "- clean cut nice guy look." She pauses for a beat and chuckles to herself. "Also, I dunno who caught it, but there's a youtube of you still on mic and yelling ‘ _vaccinate your damn kids’_ that's super memeable. So now people even know that you know _naughty_ words."

“Now I can hear Clint laughing. ‘You mean ‘dumb as shit.’’ That last one, though, what the fuck? How could anyone think _I_ wouldn’t be in favor of vaccines? That one never stops surprising me.” Seriously, Steve is beyond bewildered by that.

"I think it's that you cursed that got them." Jess fidgets a bit in her seat. "But, seriously, enjoy being Stainless Stevie; it is way harder when the world is waiting to jump on you for every little misstep."

Steve just shakes his head at that. “I don’t know how you do it. All I got’s that Fox News bullshit, and it’s enough to make me crazy. Can you imagine if they found out I was ‘super fucking hella gay’? With Hawkeye, and a massive crush on DareDevil? I wonder if that could actually make heads explode?”

"I'd pay to see _that_ bit. _Matt's_ head might explode, but he's kind of a fanboy." The thought brings a wicked little smile to her face. "But you wouldn't do it, and you really don't want to. As your scummy trash sis; hang on to the influence if you can do something good with it. For me, it's pretty much just tabloid rags and bloggers these days. And I tend to meet their expectations, but it means I'm living in hoodies 24/7 if I don't want _'local powered woman yells at doughnut guy'_ to be on the landing page of the Bugle." She aggressively bites a gummy worm in half before continuing, "And, to be clear, he yelled first."

“That wouldn’t be my problem. I’m nice, and the beard does a surprisingly good job of disguising me” he grins at her and nudges her with his shoulder, “so I’d just be some rando hipster sexually assaulting Hawkeye or throwing trash at the Winter Soldier.”

"You _are_ nice." She tips her head first onto his shoulder and then tilts sideways to look up at him. "You're a nice guy, and a try hard, and you change the subject _really_ well."

“Ah, so now you want the girly talk?” Steve’s smug about it, but there’s a thread of resignation threading through his voice. “There’s nothing more to say, I don’t think. I really like Matt, and I‘m not sure why. I can list off reasons, but that still doesn’t explain it, not really. Then I find out that Clint’s been moonin’ over him forever, too? It feels like it should be easy, but it… isn’t. For a lot of reasons, not least of which is that I’ve done this exactly once. And… even that didn’t go well. For a _while_. And It's _Clint_. The man’s got the patience of a saint and no standards! Still, I almost fucked it up!”

"Did we not have the ‘trash standards’ and ‘evil ninja zombie queen ex’ talks tonight?" Jess sighs and shakes her head at the whole thing. Here she is with the _literal poster boy_ for inspiring pep talks, and yet _she's_ the person giving one. "Matt's got the martyrdom complex of a saint, and he literally gave a second chance to the woman who _tried_ to kill him. So just don't do that." She can't help reaching up to mess with his perfectly styled hair on principle. "But, fine, I'll quit pestering you."

“What would the rest of the world think if they found out that deep down, Captain America was still just a punk kid that can’t talk to his crush? Anyway, if anything happens, you’ll be the first to know.”

"Fuck 'em, they don't deserve to know,” she answers, sharply and immediately. Jess takes a quick breath, and shoots Steve a low-grade glare. "My finder’s fee is seventeen percent, payable in favours or bottles Tony keeps on the high shelves."

“Considering you know I’m _always_ ready to do a friend a favor, and all you have to do is ask and a case of whatever you want will auto _magically_ show up at your door, I think I can live with that. Another, or are you ready to call it a night?”

"It's more fun to imagine you sneaking it out in your pockets." Jess shakes her head with a yawn. "And I would love to go another round, but Gillian set up a consult at _nine_ so I think we need to tuck in. Crashing here, or heading out?"

“I’m gonna head out.” Steve answers quickly as stands up and takes a couple of seconds to stretch. And buy himself a second to think, but… Jess almost certainly knows that and is going to let him. “I’m gonna head out, go for a walk. _Someone_ put a bunch of thoughts in my head, so I could use a walk while I try an’ work out what to do with ‘em.“

"Yeah? Good luck with those." They make their way to her door, but Jess can’t leave it there, though she isn’t sure why. "And, hey, if you decide you'd rather crash here, just walk back. But, yeah, two weeks? Unless shit goes really wrong."

“Two weeks,” he confirms, “and it’d have to go really wrong. You still have to finish catching me up on Sandy B.”

"Always fun. Later, Stagger."

* * *

Monday, 12/24/18

Matt had no idea what to expect from Christmas Eve Midnight Mass, but he didn’t expect Steve to meet him in front of the church accompanied by _anyone_ , let alone Clint _and_ Tony Stark. It isn’t a problem, really, just more of a surprise, and Matt can’t tell if Tony is going incognito or if it’s just that no one has recognized him yet. 

“Thanks for letting me tag along,” Tony says as they walk up to the church. “I haven’t done this in years.”

“I didn’t think you were-” Matt stops himself, realizing he’s about to get into pretty personal territory. “Shit. Sorry.”

Tony just brushes it off. “Don’t worry about it; I started it anyway. And I’m not Catholic, but my mom was. Well, I guess I technically am? I was baptized and started the whole confirmation thing. College sorta put a wrench in those works, but… They haven’t jumped me out, so I think I still count as catholic.” He pauses for a breath. “Anyway, I have good memories of doing this with Mom. Of course, she was usually drunk, and the last couple of years, so was I.”

With a laugh, Clint pulls out a flask and holds it out to him. “Why break tradition? Steve’s got some of Thor’s weapons-grade mead in his, and I’m willing to bet Matt’s got one, too.”

“What kind of amature do you take me for?” Tony asks, waving Clint off and reaching into his coat and pulling a simple flask from the breast pocket. “I’m still technically Catholic. I know the rules.”

“I might be more interested in this whole thing if I knew it involved booze.” Clint’s not grumpy, he’s just… not particularly enthused about attending any church anything. But, Steve has been so excited about it, and then Tony when he found out, so… Clint’s trying. 

Tony shivers dramatically. “It’s cold. Let’s go inside.”

He’s right, and they make their way inside.

The four of them are on their best behavior for the mass, which was impressive considering how close to empty their flasks are by the time it’s over. They make it around the corner and away from the rest of the congregation enough to worry a little less about being spotted when Tony stops them. 

“I’m wired and drunkish and hungry. You guys done for the night, or you wanna… hang out? Get food?”

“You know me, I’m always game.” Clint answers quickly. 

“The diner… and probably most everything else is closed.” Steve see’s the confused look on Tony’s face. “There’s a diner we go to after mass on Sundays, but they’re closed for Christmas. And because it’s… whatever time it is.”

“It’s late in New York on Christmas Eve. Christmas _Day,_ even. There’s only one thing to do:” Clint’s doing his best movie trailer announcer voice. “Order chinese food.”

“Barton, you’re a genius,” Tony comments. “I’ll have J place the order and it should hit the tower about the same time we do. You gonna join us, Matt?”

“I uh,” Matt flounders a bit; for whatever reason, he just assumed they’d go to the diner, and now he feels more than a little stupid about it. “Yeah, that works for me.”

They make it back to the tower in short order, and their food is there waiting for them. 

“Actually,” Clint drawls, “it is time for a pajama jammie jam. I’mma go change. Then food. And… Christmas movie?”

The other three nod in agreement and they all head off to change, Matt borrowing some spares from Steve and Clint again; this set actually fits him, and he vaguely wonders if they have them just for him. He doesn’t spend too much time on that thought, though; about the time he realizes he isn’t sure which answer he wants, he also figures out that he is irrevocably _gone_ on those two. 

Matt chases that particular bit of melancholia away with a long pull from his flask before he tucks it into the pocket of his soft, borrowed lounge pants and heads out the guys’ living room. Clint’s already there, snug in his jammies with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, and Steve joins them several minutes later. 

“I don’t know what your Christmas plans are,” Clint starts, “But you are more than welcome to crash in the guestroom tonight. We’re going to do breakfast in the morning, but nothing special.”

“I am going to the Nelson’s in the afternoon, but nothing before then… I think I’ll take you up on that,” Matt smiles a bit. “Thanks.”

“We’re glad to have you, Matt.” Steve says, happiness clear in his voice. “Onward to food and Die Hard?”

Matt puzzles at that. “We’re watching Die Hard?” 

“We watch it every Christmas. We will talk about what movie to watch, and then we watch Bruce Willis kick ass.” Steve sounds mildly put out about it. 

Clint laughs. “Steve does not think it is a Christmas movie. Every year he picks a fight about it, and every year he loses.”

It ends up working out exactly as Matt had been told it would. They watch Die Hard while they eat way too much food, then he, Steve, and Clint do a tired, drunk shuffle back to the guys’ place. Somehow Matt manages to drag himself to the guest room and crawl into the obscenely comfortable bed. 

The smell of bacon and coffee wakes him up the next morning, and when he checks his phone he finds that he’s slept far longer than he’d intended. Not that it really matters; he doesn’t have anywhere to be or anything to do, but he feels a little guilty about not helping with breakfast. 

“Hi! Merry Christmas, Matt!” Steve greets when he sees Matt. “How are you? Did you sleep ok?”

It isn’t early, but Matt has just woken up and hasn’t had his coffee yet. That’s his only explanation for what he says. “Fuck you, you’re a morning person.”

“I am an all the time person,” Steve answers _extra cheerfully_ and with a big grin. He knows Matt doesn’t mean anything bad by it, and certainly Clint’s said worse. Still, it makes Steve thrill a bit that Matt feels safe enough to be so candid. That said, he won't pass up the chance to be _relentlessly cheerful_ first thing in the morning. “But I am awake as soon as my feet hit the floor. Coffee’s ready, and Clint’s still asleep so you can get some before he drinks from the pot.”

Matt grimaces a little at that. “That’s… gross. But thanks for the heads up.” He heads over to get some coffee, but pauses when something occurs to him. “Doesn’t Clint gripe at you for drinking out of the milk carton?”

“My point exactly!” Steve laughs as he flips the pancakes he’s been working on. “If you want to eat now, go ahead. If not, it’ll be a bit.”

Matt passes on eating now; he’d much rather wait so they can all eat together. The two of them chatter back and forth while Steve works, until Clint wakes up and drags himself to the coffee pot, then they chatter back and forth about _Zombie Clint_ until he’s awake enough to snipe back at them, but by that point breakfast is done. 

They eat. They talk. They watch a movie. They come up with things to stretch out the time, and all three seem to be trying in equal measure, but none of them ever come out and just _say_ anything about it. Eventually there are no more excuses, and Matt has to either tell them he wants to stay, or leave. He convinces himself that if he didn’t have to go to the Nelson’s later, he’d absolutely ask to stay. Definitely. But, as it is, the point is moot. He thanks them for a wonderful Christmas morning, changes into his suit, and heads back to Hell’s Kitchen.

* * *

Monday, 12/31/18

Tony Stark’s New Year’s Eve Party is in full swing and the novelty of the Avengers has worn off, so the team and their assorted dates and associates are huddled in a corner making up drinking games and mocking their fellow revelers when Darcy Lewis, PR maven for the Avengers, declares herself “dangerously tipsy” and explains that at the rate she’s never going to make it until midnight and still be able take a decent picture and get it posted.

“Sooooo…” the tiny ball of chaotic energy drawls, swiveling from her spot on Sam’s lap to look at everyone, “I’mma need y’all to fake it. Jus’ take a couple where we pretend it’s midnight. I’ll throw a couple of filters on and schedule ‘em to post at midnight. Then we can all fuck off to the residential floors.”

Clint points at Darcy very seriously. “You, Tiny Terror, are a whole, entire genius. Let’s do it.”

“I feel the love, Barton,” Tony chides. “Thanks. Really.”

“Fuck off forever, Tony,” Clint says with a grin and a thumbs up. “You telling me you’d rather do _this_ than sit around with some of Brucie’s _special_ cookies and Mario Kart or stupid karaoke or just being able to talk shit without being overheard?”

“I didn’t say you were wrong,” Tony says. “You definitely aren’t and we should definitely do that. Shortstack, what do you need?”

With that question Darcy slipped into work mode and fifteen minutes later they were all heading for the elevators to head up to the team common room.

“I think I’m going to head home,” Matt says when they leave the ballroom. “It’s been a long week and I’m beat. You all have fun, though.”

“I’m sorry Matthew, but that is just unacceptable,” Pepper _Fucking_ Potts says as she drapes an arm across his shoulders and steers him further into the building. “They are all batshit. Please don’t leave me with that.”

“I think you’ll survive, Ms. Potts.” Matt offers her a smile. “Besides, I’d be the odd one out, and no one wants to be the only person without someone to kiss at midnight.”

“Oh, fuck _that_.” Darcy stops in her tracks, heels dangling from one hand, and wheels around to face Matt. “Dibs. I. Call. Dibs.” She says it like it’s a challenge, and the only way Matt can think to describe it is _adorably hostile_. 

“Besides,” Bucky adds, “You aren’t the only one. Jessie’s flyin’ solo.”

“Well, I am _now_.” Jessica says when everyone turns to look at her. “What? There was a bartender. It didn’t work out.”

“Ok then.” Matt says for lack of anything else to say. He clears his throat and turns to Darcy. “I appreciate that, Darcy, but not all toads turn into princes.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t sell yourself short, Matty.” Jess says. “You’re at least a newt.”

Next to her Steve nearly chokes trying not to laugh while Scott helpfully supplies, “He’s definitely an axolotl.”

“A MATTSALOTL!” Darcy exclaims with an _actual_ squeal. 

Jess snickers. “He sure is.” She says it quietly, but Matt is bright red and Steve is trying very hard not to laugh, so she knows her intended target’s heard.

Ultimately, the group succeeds in getting Matt upstairs, and he has a good time in spite of himself. So much so that he manages to lose track of time and before he knows it, it is almost midnight. He hadn’t been lying earlier and doesn’t relish the thought of being one of two single - or _unattached_ , as Darcy repeatedly describes herself - people at the party when the ball drops. Slowly, he makes his way toward the door, and it is surprisingly difficult. Especially considering everyone around him is either drunk or full of Bruce’s _special_ cookies. And, you know, the fact that he’s a fucking ninja.

He makes it to the far side of the room and thinks he’s in the clear when Clint seems to just appear at his side. 

“‘If you wanna go, at least let one of the drivers take you home?” Clint pauses and takes a sharp breath before adding, “But I think we’d all really like it if you stayed.”

Clint sounds unusually soft and something about it hit’s Matt _just right_. “Yeah, ok. I guess it’s foolish to leave this close to midnight.”

“That’s the spirit!” Clint loops an arm around Matt’s shoulder and steers him back into the crowd. 

As the minutes tick by, Clint and Steve move closer to Matt. The conversation keeps going, and everyone is having a great time, but by the time they start counting down, the two blondes are flanking Matt, and when the clock ticks over they both lean in and plant a giant kiss on his cheeks.

“Full on sammich kissesss!” An incredibly drunk Foggy exclaims before nudging Steve to the side to do the same, dragging Karen with him. Clint steps to the side to give her access, laughing at the three of them. 

“Oh, hey, I didn’t know that was an option!” Scott says, far more enthusiastic about giving a near stranger a peck on the cheek than one would expect. 

“Hey, if you get to smooch the hot lawyer, so do I!” Janet, Scott’s girlfriend, gives him a quick pat on the behind before leaning in to plant a kiss of her own on Matt’s shoulder.

Darcy huffs at the sight. “Hey, no fair! I called dibs!” She shouts before striding up and kissing Matt like her life depends on it.

“Whoa, hey,” Clint says, wrapping an arm around the tiny woman’s waist and pulling her gently backwards. “It was supposed to be a peck-on-cheek thing, not a tongue-down-throat thing. Shit, Matt, you ok?”

He is. He’s fine, if a little breathless and a lot startled. What a weird sixty seconds that had been. “Yeah.” There’s a small laugh. “I’m good. That was quite the kiss, Ms. Lewis.”

“I aim to please.” She said cheerfully. “And, uh, sorry I mauled you. That was very wrong on, like, all of the levels.”

“No harm no foul, Darcy. We’re good.”

“Oh, good. I’m glad. I’m just, uh,” Darcy hooks a thumb over her shoulder. “I’m gonna go away from here and explode. I’ll talk to you later.”

She turns on a heel and walks away, and as soon as she does Clint’s arm is back across his shoulders and he’s being turned away from the group. 

“Hey, man, I am sorry about that. If we crossed a line… and I definitely didn’t see it going _there_ … I.” Clint sighs. “Are you ok?”

“Oh, yeah.” Matt nods. “I meant it. No harm, no foul. It’s the most action I’ve had in a minute, and she’s a good kisser s-”

“I meant us. Uh,” Clint sounds unsure, and it weirds Matt out a little. “Steve and me. If we crossed any lines or anything.”

Right. The fact that the two incredible men that he has a crush on kissed him at midnight after his whole thing about how he wouldn’t get that. “Yeah, uh, you didn’t. That was… nice. Thank you.”

“Nice?” Clint’s eyebrow is nearly in his hairline. “I’ll take it. You wanna get back to the party?”

Matt thinks about it for a second or two, and realizes that the hard part of the night is done and over with now. “Yeah. I think I do.”

* * *

Thursday, 01/10/19

Steve checks his phone for the manyith time tonight, and Jessica can’t help but snicker. She shoots Steve a glance before reaching for the remote and pausing the movie. 

“What’s got your spangly panties in a bunch, Stagger?” Jessica is pretty sure she knows the answer - in the last couple of days, she’s had to deal with two other restless, distracted, _large_ man-children and she’s not a private investigator for nothing - but she isn’t sure how much her companion wants to share. She’s more than happy to lend an ear if he needs it… mostly… but she really likes Doc Hollywood, and is pretty sure Steve would too, if he actually bothered watching it. 

“Huh?” Steve puts his phone to sleep and looks over to Jess. “Shit, sorry, Sunshine. Just… a little distracted.”

With an exaggerated sigh, she leans forward to grab the remote off the coffee table and a small handful of gummy worms, and pauses the movie. “What’s on your mind, friend.”

“I- what? No, nothing, I just…” Steve hangs his head, knowing he’s caught. “Ok, I guess there is supposed to be a Nelson family something on the twelfth, and I’m waiting to hear back from Matt about if we’re doing church.”

“Oh, wow. You’ve got it bad.”

“Shut up, I do not,” Steve gets out, but the scarlet blush creeping across his face betrays him. “I just haven’t seen him in a bit. I was on that mission and he’s been busy with work, so I haven’t really even gotten to talk to him in a while.”

“Well, he’s out on patrol with your honey tonight, right? I’m sure he’ll let Clint know one way or the other.” Jessica Jones, ever the pragmatist.

Unfortunately, Steve just shoots her a curious look. “No, he, Foggy, and Karen are working on some big case. They’ve been working ‘round the clock all… year, I guess. Between the actual workload and his promise to Karen that he wouldn’t show up to court with black eyes anymore, he figured it was more responsible to duck out of patrol tonight.”

“Wait, really? Then who’s Big Bird out with?”

“Danny,” Steve says around a chuckle. 

“Yikes. I almost feel bad for Rand.” Jessica shoves another couple of gummies in her mouth. “Poor Hawkguy. No spicy trash devil to have parkour contests with _and_ he has to babysit Hong Kong Phooey? Rough night.”

“Eh,” Steve answers with a shrug, “Clint can work with anyone. That may actually be his super power. He just works really well with Matt, and Matt doesn’t...annoy the shit out of him.”

Jessica outright laughs at that. “Holy shit, that’s hilarious. This is an unstoppable force versus immovable object situation.” She snorts and tries to regain her composure. “The infinite patience of Clint versus… Danny Rand just _being_ Danny Rand.”

“Well, he only volunteered to fill in for _you_ because you are doing him a favor, and he gets to hang out with one of his favorite playmates. They come up with dumbass games to keep themselves entertained” Steve explains. “With Danny… it’s more like actual work. Breaking in a ‘dipshit greenie with a chip on his shoulder,’ so…”

“So...Barton’s being a mopey sad sack because he can’t hang out with Matt, too?” Jessica can’t help but laugh at that. 

“I dunno ‘bout all _that_ ,'' Steve says with a chuckle of his own, “but he’d rather be home. At least with Matt he got to hang out with a friend. And we’re both kinda… off, I guess. We’d been spending a bunch of time together and’d sorta adjusted to it, and now we haven’t seen him since the party. Even that ended… weird.” 

“Wow, nine whole days, Stagger?” Jessis having fun. She also knows she’s being a little bit of a shit, but it’s _Steve_ , so she also knows he _gets it_. “How have you managed?”

“You say that like it’s a big deal. I’m just worried my friend - _friends_ \- are working themselves too hard. It’s not like I’m pining or anything.”

He says it with a straight face, and honestly? Jess is a little bit impressed he managed it, considering he is an abysmal liar. “Whatever you say, _Oh, Tannenbaum_. I am sure Foggy and Karen will be thrilled to know Captain America is worried about them.”

Steve shrugs. “They’ve met me and pretty much all of my friends. If they don’t know I am a compulsive worrier, neither is as bright as I’ve given them credit for.”

“Ten points for the dodge, there buddy, but a big ol’ goose egg for the explanation. I thought the point of your church dates was the church part, not the date part.”

“It was.” Steve immediately catches himself, and tries to correct what he said. “Is! It is! ...shit.” he lets his head fall forward, and lets out a huge sigh. “Yes, I miss seeing him, but there is a practical side here - he makes a pretty good buffer. I’m not so keen on the idea of a grainy picture of me sitting alone in a pew showing up on TMZ. ‘Lonely Captain America Suffers Crisis of Faith.’ Hard pass, thanks.” He lets out a quick laugh, “Especially since that happened 90 years ago, and I haven’t been _lonely_ since aliens showed up in New York. I haven’t hardly _been alone_ since aliens showed up in New York.”

“Uh-huh,” Jess nods. “Of course, I’d even go out on a _limb_ and say I don’t know how you haven’t _boughed_ under the pressure. Still, this is - _kinda_ \- girl time. You are allowed to be _pining_ and insuf- _fir_ -able, and I can’t be- _leaf_ you haven’t stopped me yet.”

Steve gives her a half shrug before tipping sideways to knock his shoulder against hers. “You were on a roll. I didn’t want to break up your flow.”

“Eh, it was an ok run. I was trying to fit ‘evergreen’ in there somewhere, but just couldn’t make it work.”

“Well, ‘A’ for effort.” Steve gives a little laugh. “It was a decent string. And maybe - _maybe_ \- I might be pining a little. Just a bit. Clint and I were talking the other day and...we’re serious about this. Came up with maybe kind of a plan to talk to him about it… Saying it outloud this sounds insane. And…” Steve winces a little. “... kinda creepy.”

Jess laughs at him. “You’ve definitely been spending too much time with him, because that was a Matt Murdock ‘I said a stupid’ face, one-hundred per _cent.”_

“Thank you, Sunshine.” Steve says dryly. He shoves his hand into the candy bowl and pulls out a couple of sour ropes that he shoves directly into his mouth to buy him some time. Yes, he and Clint had talked about it, and seriously, but putting it out there for someone else to hear - and judge, though Steve really doesn’t think Jess will - makes it feel...tangible, almost. Real. And terrifying. “That-”

Steve’s cut off by his phone buzzing on his leg; he startles and jerks and knocks it to the floor. Jessica doesn’t even try not laughing at him. “Stagger, you should probably be embarrassed by this. Our Matty’d flip his shit if he had any idea that you’ve gone full goob over him.”

With an inarticulate groan, Steve leans forward to grab his phone off the floor, but keeps going until he’s laying sprawled out on the floor in front of Jessica Jones’s couch. “The floor can eat me _at any time_.”

“Kinky.” Jessica _isn’t_ giggling. “Unfortunately, my floor’s pretty vanilla. C’mon. Get up. I’m not Clint; I have no patience. What’s going on.” She’s not sure when she got so invested in this, but it probably has to do with how absolutely goofy Steve’s being tonight. 

Reluctantly, Steve checks his phone, only to sigh and drop it on his face, muttering, “yeah, that sounds about right.”

“Stagger?” Jessica peers down at him, not sure if she should laugh or get ready to console a national treasure. “Everything ok?”

“Yup. I’m an idiot. SNAFU, and all that, you know.” He turns his head to shake the phone off, then scrubs his hands over his face. “Did you know that the 12th is Saturday, not Sunday?”

“Oh, Steve,” Jessica says, and it’s almost gasping with how hard she is trying to not laugh at her precious disaster of a friend. “You’re right, you are an idiot.”

“Again, thank you, Jessica.” Steve’s going to have to ask if they can open a window here soon, what with the heat radiating off his face causing the temperature in the room to climb. “You really know how to cheer a guy up.”

Jess taps him with her foot. “Oh, stop being a baby. We’re all morons here. C’mon, get off the floor.”

“Fine.” Steve drags himself off the floor and flops back onto the couch. “I’m an idiot.”

“We established that.”

Steve turns and grins at her. “But I’m an idiot that’s got a weird church date on Sunday.”

“That does not sound like a thing to be happy about.” She knocks her shoulder into his. “But I’m glad you're happy.” She shoves a gummy strawberry into her mouth. “Back to the movie?”

“Back to the movie,” Steve agrees and they settle in for the rest of the night.


	3. We are Your Real Place

Matt wraps his hands around his coffee mug, even though it burns. His hands are so cold they ache, and it’s his own fault; what grown New York native leaves home on a January morning without their gloves? The walk from the church to the diner had been excruciating, even though it wasn’t all that long. Somehow, during the course of the morning’s Mass, he’d forgotten how much the walk to St. Patrick’s Cathedral had sucked, though it had less to do with how thoroughly engrossed in the homily he had been, and more with how he’d been thoroughly distracted by the man sitting beside him. Steve seemed like a giant next to him, was a warm and overwhelming presence, and that was true even when Matt managed to remember that Steve Rogers was as good as married to an entirely different problem of the same nature, and - therefore - entirely off limits. 

Even then, that didn’t take into account the fact that the Steve Rogers he was sitting next to was the _Captain America_ Steve Rogers, or the fact that Matt had gotten to the point where he knew Steve well enough to entirely forget about the _Cap_ thing. 

Anyway, he’d been distracted, and then he’d been cold, and now he is sitting in a booth, opposite Steve, in a dinky little diner after mass, for the howevermanyith time. _‘Don’t do that, Matt. 14th. You know that. 14th time,_ ’ he thinks, and fair enough. There’s no use lying to himself; he knows he has ridiculous crush on both of them. Crushes on each of them. Whatever. Both, probably - not really knowing what is going on, but really enjoying their little weekly ritual as much as he enjoys the fact they have one. 

Steve pulls him from his thoughts with a sharp intake of breath and a soft “ouch.”

“What’s wrong?” Matt asks.

“I got stabbed by my stupid tie pin,” Steve answers. “It’s an arrow, and it was given to me by Nat back when Clint and I first started whatever, her little stamp of approval. And, occasionally, if I move the wrong way, it stabs me. It’s… appropriate.”

“Wearing something that hurts you is appropriate?”

“Ok, it sounds bad when you say it like that,” Steve chuckles. “It’s… an interesting family.”

If asked, Matt couldn’t tell you what prompted him to say it, but for some insane reason, he did. 

“So, do you ever worry what your mom would think? About… Clint?”

“About Clint, or my being gay?”

“Either, both.”

“Oh, she knew I was gay. She commented on it once, that it made her sad because it was going to make my life harder. Remember, it was pretty dangerous at the time. She, I think, knew long before I understood it. And, Clint? Oh,” he sits back, soft sort of smile on his face, “I swear I could _hear_ her the first time I went to visit her grave to tell her about him. ‘A fine strappin’ young fella.’ ‘Finally someone a’might be able to save ya from yerself.’” He laughs to himself. “She was convinced I was going to get myself killed.”

Matt doesn’t _say_ anything, but the look he gives Steve speaks volumes. 

“I didn’t say she was _wrong_. To her point, it only took one really stupid thing before Clint made it clear he, uh, found that sort of behavior unacceptable.”

“You did something so stupid _Clint_ got mad?”

“Oh,” Steve drawls, wincing slightly, “he didn’t get mad. That’s… not the word I’d use to describe it. He made his point, though. Pretty fucking thoroughly.”

“Such language, Cap, and right after church. But, what did you do? What did _he_ do to scare the stupid out of you?” Matt grimaces, “I could have worded that better.”

“Not in church now, and without the suit, I’m just Steve,” he holds his hands out in apology. “C’mon, Matty. You know that.”

Matt puts everything he has into trying to not react to the nickname. It isn’t like it was some intimate thing; pretty much everyone has used it at some point, so why is this different? Whatever, that is a _Later Matty_ problem. _Right Now Matty_ really wants Steve to answer his question. “Ok, _Steve_ , what did you do that was so reckless Hawkeye thought it was a bad idea? And what’d he do?”

Steve sighs and takes a long drink of his coffee, “I have been thoroughly flogged for this, ok? And I have definitely learned my lesson, so I really don’t need you to comment on it, but… I jumped out of an airplane with no parachute. And Clint… put the fear of Clint into me, I guess. Fear of God or Death seems pale in comparison to someone you love telling you they’re going to walk away if you don’t get your shit together.”

Matt knows that conversation but can’t imagine it ever being a deterrent for him. “He, what, threatened to leave you if you jumped out of an airplane without a chute again?”

“That’s,” Steve frowns, looking for the right words, “I didn’t put the Valkyrie in the water because Bucky died. I know people have speculated on that since it happened, but, that wasn’t it. It was the right thing to do, and it was my job. That said, having lost Bucky, and with him the only sort of home or life I’d ever known, well, it made the decision really easy. I don’t want to say I had nothing to live for, because that ain’t how it works… how _life_ works. But, it was different after that; the way I saw it, I really only had my duty left. It’s- I don’t know. Like, I had no bedrock, no foundation,” he sighed. “I’m not a words guy. But, I guess Clint gave me a foundation again, and I didn’t realize it. Took it for granted, and didn’t respect what that cost Clint. No… not cost, but… what Clint _gave_ , I guess. He made it clear that if I died, his life would be… changed, different. _He_ would be different. That I had to do at least the bare minimum to keep myself safe in order to keep _him_ safe, and fair enough. I _know_ what it’s like.” He pauses and takes a long sip of coffee. “Anyway, I don’t jump out of airplanes without parachutes anymore.”

Matt gets the concept, but it’s an academic understanding. Dozens of conversations with Foggy are running through his head, and Foggy never pulled his punches when he was trying to make it clear that he couldn’t and _wouldn’t_ wait around for him to get himself killed. _Again._ That was Claire’s entire point. He got that side of it, but he is struggling to wrap his head around the fact that _Captain America_ is telling him that he’d, what, changed his entire MO? Because someone asked? That… couldn’t be right. “How does that work, you still do the whole superhero thing?”

Steve shoots him a funny look, and wonders if he can see it, really wonders how finely tuned his senses are, but Matt doesn’t comment, so Steve figures he can’t see it. “That’s… it’s… this is getting unusually personal, but, we talked about it. A lot. Eventually we established acceptable risk levels, I guess. Jumping out of perfectly good airplanes when there are parachutes available? Not acceptable. Plane’s on fire and there’s no chute? Try not to get into that situation, but, there’s not much else you can do. Acceptable, but undesirable.”

“Acceptable, but undesirable,” Matt repeats, but his head is just replaying Midland Circle over and over. Foggy finally seeing how deep the whole thing ran, the danger he was in, the danger _their city_ was in, and bringing him the suit. It still hits him like a brick to the chest when he thinks about it - _Foggy_ brought the DareDevil suit to him at the _police station_ , and sent him out. And then had to walk out the next day, believing Matt was dead. Acceptable, but undesirable, indeed. 

He gives a small chuckle, but it is not a happy thing. “I think I might get that. And I think I owe my best friend - and my ex - an apology.”

Steve laughs at that, “I’m sorry, or you’re welcome?”

“No, it’s good. Thank you, I mean. That perspective, I didn’t have it.” Matt grimaces again. “I mean, thank you; it hadn’t been explained to me from that perspective.”

“You do that a lot,” Steve comments casually, but the words are careful, “I’ve got to admit, I thought a lawyer would be better with words. It’s not that… _you’re_ not weird because of the Cap thing, right?”

No, it isn’t the Cap thing, Matt thinks. It is the _Steve_ _thing_ , and that is so much worse. “No, no. Nothing like that,” he assures, “all the fancy words are prepared in advance, and all the stuff that happens on the fly, well, it’s work mode. It’s different.”

The waitress comes over to refill their coffee, and Steve gives her a quick thanks before turning back to Matt. “I get that,” he says simply, as he dumps a ridiculous amount of sugar into his coffee before taking a sip. He’s not sure what’s going on here, but he likes it and wants to drag it out for as long as he can, which does nothing to explain what he says next, “Listen,” he sets his mug down and wraps his hands around it just for something to do, “it, uh, isn’t me, is it? I don’t make you uncomfortable or something, right? If that’s the case, you don’t have to do this. I think I’m old enough to go to church and breakfast on my own, I don’t-”

“No, no,” Matt insists, reaching out to grab Steve’s wrist, but pulling back as if he’d been burned. _What the hell, Matthew?_ “I mean, shit. No, I’m a wreck of a disaster. I either know what I’m doing, or I _really_ don’t.”

Steve ponders that - _all_ of what just happened in the last thirty or so seconds - and nods. “Oh, believe me, _that_ I understand. I wanted to make sure since I,” he laughs at himself, he can’t help it, “I like our ‘weird church dates.’”

Matt tilts his head and purses his lips at that, “‘weird church dates’? Is that what these are?”

“It’s what Clint and Jess call them, at least, yeah,” Steve answers. 

Matt can’t help himself. He knows he shouldn’t, but fuck it. Fortune favors the bold, right? “Your boyfriend is ok with you going on ‘dates’ with other men?”

Steve makes a noncommittal humming noise and fidgets with his mug some more. “Not as a rule, no,” he says slowly, giving his next words far more thought than he ever had to something like throwing himself out of a plane. “It would have to be someone pretty special for him to be okay with it.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he wishes he could take them back. What is he _doing_? Holy shit, Steve “Heart on his Sleeve” Rogers strikes again. He cringes, and hopes it wasn’t too far.

He lucks out.

Matt smirks at him. “Special?”

“Gifted, then,” he corrects with a cocked eyebrow. 

It works, and Matt laughs.

“I really hate that word.”

“Hmm, hadn’t noticed,” Steve replies around a grin. “But, no, to answer your question, Clint _really_ does not mind. He likes that I have this, the church thing, and he really likes the part where he doesn’t have to go with me.” Steve takes a breath to compose himself, but he knows Matt can hear at least as well as he can, and since all he can hear is his own heart jackhammering away, he’s guessing Matt can, too. “He also likes that I’m out with you.”

Before Matt can do anything, his phone lets him know he’s received a text from Danny, and as he fumblingly pulls the thing out of his pocket, he inadvertently hits the screen reader, “Danny: Check the dressing on your shoulder. You know who will give you grief if the stitches tear.”

A bit more fumbling and a drop later, Matt’s phone is silent and lying face down on the table. “I’m, uh, sorry about that.”

Steve tries not to be obvious about the fact that he finds flustered Matt adorable. “‘S fine. Who’s ‘you know who,’” he asks, “and what happened to your shoulder?”

Matt raises an eyebrow and smirks at him. “This week, or ever? One of those lists is much longer than the other. I’m game if you are, but we’ll be here a while.”

“Oh, joy,” Steve says in mock irritation, “another smartass. Yay.”

“You Know Who is a nurse friend of mine. Ours. The other,” he sighs, mentally kicking himself, “you know. You know what I mean. She stitched me up after I went through a window badly.”

Steve gives a short laugh, like it got away from him. “As opposed to all those times you’ve gone through a window _well_?”

“Well,” he takes a sip of his coffee, “yeah. Sometimes you go through a window and it’s fine, and sometimes you need stitches. I will grant you that there probably isn’t anything going ‘ _well_ ’ if you have gone through a window, but it is definitely going _poorly_ if you need stitches after.” He frowns, “and I am pretty sure _you_ know that.”

Steve outright laughs at that. “Fair enough, counselor.”

“You’re messing with me.” It isn’t a question, and there is no anger in the statement. 

“Yes, I am,” Steve confirms, “it’s how I show affection. Pepper says my ‘love language’ is being a shit, if that helps. Not real sure what that means, but it sounds about right.”

It is Matt’s turn to laugh. “It’s a book. A self-help book for personal relationships. I don’t think ‘being a shit’ is actually from the book.”

“Ah, fair enough. It doesn’t make her less right, though,” he concedes with a shrug. “Dunno what _that_ says about me, though.”

Matt shrugs back, “I think that might say more about Clint than you.” Matt actually _feels_ Steve deflate a little at that. “Not that, I mean, I don’t… damn. It was a joke.”

“I know, I got that.” Steve let out a small sigh. “It’s… nothing. I’m not always a shit.”

Matt has no idea what he’s just hit on, but he wants desperately to fix it, and where the hell did that come from? It felt like he’d punched the guy. “I…” _You, what, Matthew?_ What are you _doing_? “...know you aren’t,” he decides on lamely. 

Steve makes it all the way until Matt quits talking before the giggles get the best of him. 

Matt slumps back in the booth to sulk, going so far as to cross his arms over his chest and everything, and he looks so soft and so… adorable, it makes something catch in Steve’s throat as he takes in the man sitting across from him. 

In fact, he is so caught up in the details that he completely misses the movement until it is too late, and a sugar packet _thwapps_ against his cheek. 

“Aw, man,” it isn’t a whine, but it is in the same zip code, and Matt finds it so hilarious he almost misses what else Steve says, “two of ‘em?”

“Huh, what?” Matt perks up like a puppy that’s just heard his name. “Two of what?”

“What?” Steve looks confused and then immediately embarrassed. “Oh, uh, thinking out loud. But, um, two little ninja cretins to flick trash at me.”

It isn’t often that Matt Murdock doesn’t have anything to say, so he’s had very little practice at not gawping like a rabbit in headlights when it happens. Luckily Steve is a human steamroller, and keeps right on going, “Clint does it all the time when he’s irritated with me. One of the many reasons I’m glad drinking straws are gone. Any time we’d get the ones in the paper wrappers? Yeah, it’d end up in a little ball and get flicked at my temple before I’d realized he’d moved. Or nose. Or between my eyes.” Steve grins. “Cretin.”

He should laugh. Matt knows he should laugh and change the subject to something generic until their food comes. He should do that, and then he should eat and pay and get the hell out of here before he does or says something stupid. 

Something _else_ stupid. 

He doesn’t. 

“How you show affection. To us two cretins.” Matt says it simply and lets it hang there. What in the living, breathing _fuck_ is going on. 

“Yes,” Steve states frankly, like that one word answers everything. 

Matt just sits there, though he isn’t sure if he is waiting for Steve to clarify… _something_ , or if he is just waiting for the smiting that he definitely deserves for interfering in what may be the most stable and functional relationship he’s ever actually seen in person. 

Luckily, he is saved by the arrival of their food, and decides to tuck into his omelette instead of trying to figure out what to say. 

The silence stretches out as they eat, but it isn’t an awkward thing. At least, not until Steve steals a grape from Matt’s plate and pops it into his mouth. 

“That was not yours.”

“Oh, it wasn’t?” Steve asks around a grin, before he opens his mouth to reveal what must be a disgusting glob of mashed grape. “Would you like it back?” 

“You really are terrible.” 

Steve swallows his stolen food and leans back in his seat, looking intently at Matt. “You should come home with me when we finish breakfast.”

“I,” Matt has no idea what to say, so he stabs a chunk of cantaloupe with his fork and shoves it in his mouth. The regret is immediate, and he hates himself almost as much as he hates the cursed melon in his mouth. 

“Uh, Matty,” Steve says sweetly, “I don’t think you like cantaloupe.”

Matt flips him off as he chokes down the melon, chasing it with a swig of coffee, which somehow only seems to make the cantaloupe flavor _angry_. “I don’t,” he agrees with a grimace.

“That works out, then,” Steve pauses to swipe a piece of cantaloupe off Matt’s plate, “I love it. I’ll make sure the mean ol’ melon can’t hurt you anymore.” He proceeds to munch on his fork-full of pilfered melon cheerfully. 

“The fruit is all yours; it all tastes like cantaloupe now, anyway.” Matt takes another bite of his eggs. “But if you touch my omelette, I will kill you.”

“Yeah, you branched out this time. New Year’s resolution? Is it worth it?” Steve asks.

Everything in Matt wants to flip Steve off and shovel another bite of his bacon and cheese omelette into his face, but that would be rude, and he doesn’t want to be rude here. Instead he tells Steve the truth, “Jessica convinced me to try new things.”

“Oh, did she?” Steve knows Jess isn't the sort to gossip - not about things like this, at least - but he’s certainly _hinted_ about being okay with her talking to Matt about him… and Clint, and _them_. He _knows_ it is unlikely, but he still kinda hopes she’s said something. Though, he also hoped he didn’t look like he was hopeful, so.... _‘Holy shit, Rogers,’_ he chides himself in his head, _‘be more of a teenage girl.’_

“Yeah, she-“ Matt starts, but is cut off by his phone letting him know he’s received a text from Jessica. He sighs - “Sure why not?” - as he flips his phone over and plays the message.

“JJ: damnit matty now ive got to deal with another blond punch happy baby moping at me do you know how fucking many of those i have tell danny youre fine"

Steve blinks at the message. “Does she ever use punctuation?”

“Not unless things are really terrible.”

“Good to know.” Steve snags another chunk of melon from Matt’s plate. “So, you game for coming home with me after breakfast?”

Was he? “Why,” he eventually settles on, “what do you have planned?”

“No plan, not anything specific.”

“Okay,” Matt says it slowly, trying to figure out what Steve’s playing at, “then I guess we’re back to ‘why?’”

Steve shrugs. “We just wanted to hang out with you.”

Matt frowns. “Steve, what’s going on? What are you doing? What are _we_ doing?”

“I am asking my friend if he’d like to spend the rest of the day hanging out with me.” The words hang there while Steve takes a bite of his eggs benedict. “If you have plans already, or just don’t want to, that’s fine, but…” he trails off and shovels another bite of his breakfast into his face, though this time it feels like more of a nervous gesture than anything. He’d been expecting Matt to say something while he chewed, but the man across from him stays silent. “We were just going to have a lazy day, and we… it’s nice when you’re with us. Figured I’d extend an invitation, ‘s’all.” He shrugs, “I get it. It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

It isn’t that Steve sounds defeated, it is that he doesn’t sound particularly _anything_. _‘This is his press voice_ ,’ Matt’s brain helpfully supplies, _‘he is hiding from you. Good job!_ ’ Something is going on here, and he feels like he should know what it is; that he should know enough to put the pieces together. Unfortunately, he isn’t this _Theoretical Matt,_ made entirely of would-have, could-haves; he is _Reality Matt,_ who knows little more about the situation than: “something is off” and “it got weirder after Jessica’s text, which itself is weird.” Reality Matt, though, is a damn good lawyer, and has the perfect trick for this situation: Stall until you figure out something better.

“Uh, you know what? I need to,” he picks up his phone and half waves it at Steve, “get back to Jess. Before, you know, she starts using punctuation.”

“Yeah, of course,” Steve waves him off, “it might be fun to see, but not, um, not right now.”

“Right. Anyway.” He adjusts his grip on the phone and brings it closer to his face, using talk-to-text “Reply to JJ:” He takes a breath. Fuck it, what’s he going to do, make this _more_ weird? “Why are your other blondes moping?”

Across the table, Steve’s heart literally skips a beat and, depending on how this works out, Matt can’t wait to make fun of him for it. 

Neither has a chance to react when Matt’s phone tells them Jess has replied. Before Matt can check the message - let alone think about the fact that Jessica Jones _never_ replies quickly to anything - he receives notification of a second text from her. No part of this is making this situation less weird, so he opts to just check the message.

JJ: fuck if I wanted to watch idiots dance around each other id just go to a club i missed all the good parts of while you were sleeping over this but im not getting in the middle figure it out

JJ: also thanks and dont die before I can kill you for leaving me on bug watch last night with the dalai lame ass

“I am not less confused,” Matt admits, though he keeps the part about being entirely lost to himself.

“I think I can explain that. Some of it. But-” Steve glances around the diner; no one has obviously put together that he’s Captain America, but experience has taught him that the more he doesn’t want to be recognized, the more likely it is to happen. “- not here. If you don’t want to come to our place, that’s fine, but somewhere not so…”

“Yeah, no, it’s… yes. Let’s go back to your place,” he takes a sip of coffee, “but after I finish eating. I actually got bacon in my omelette, and have every intention of enjoying it.”

Steve chuckles. “Fair enough.” He takes another bite of his breakfast, before he starts outright laughing. “ _Dalai lame ass_. That’s a good one.”

“She comes up with some pretty good ones when she wants to.”

They eat the rest of their meal, idly chatting about nothing between bites. Eventually they finish and pay and step out of the restaurant and into the late, grey January morning. 

“We’re, uh, in Brooklyn today,” Steve explains, “I drove.”

Matt hears Steve chuckle and realizes his face must have fallen along with his stomach; motorcycles are a lot for him at the best of times, and full of bacon in the cold and damp definitely does not count as his best.

“Drove, not rode,” Steve clarifies, “you’re fine. It’s one of Tony’s big swanky land yachts. You’ll be warm and dry and safe. I promise.”

“Safe? So you have a driver, too,” he asks around a smile.

“Real nice, Matty, but no. You’re stuck with me, if that’s ok. I’m a block up and across the street.” He shoves his hands in his jacket pockets and starts heading for the car when he looks over and see’s Matt next to him with a white knuckled grip on his cane. “Hey, if you’re uncomfortable, or you just don’t want to, you don’t have to.”

“No, no. I forgot my gloves.”

“Oh, wait,” Steve takes off his left glove and moves to Matt’s right side, offering his arm, “here, I’m warm and it’s not so exposed, and you can use my glove.”

“I-“ Matt starts, but has no idea where to go from there. “You’re a lot.” There is affection in his words as he folds his cane back up and takes Steve’s proffered arm. 

“You’re not the first one to say that.”

They carry on like that as they make their way down and across the street before Steve guides him to a stop and opens the car door. “This is us.”

“This is… It even smells expensive,” Matt comments as he slides into the ridiculous plush seat. “I can get the door, Steve- but thank you.”

“I’ll be sure to tell Tony,” Steve says around a chuckle. “And it’s no problem. My pleasure, really. It’s…” he trails off, looking for the right words. Everything he comes up with involves the words “courting” or “date” or something similar, which is a little much, even for him. Eventually he settles on, “polite,” as he closes the door. 

“This doesn’t seem quite your speed,” Matt comments when Steve gets in on the other side. 

“I guess? Cars are tools.” Steve chuckles, “Somewhere Tony, Bucky, and Clint all suddenly got very angry and they don’t know why. Anyway, Tony told me to take Carissa, that she sounded and felt impressive. When I started at him like I had no idea what he was talking about, he told me to grab the keys to the one in space A4, and that it was Pepper’s favorite. Honestly, it’s that last bit that sold me. That woman has amazing taste.”

Matt snickers, “in everything but men?”

“Aw, that’s not fair,” Steve says, something weighty in his words, “if anyone knows that, it’s me. Tony’s a good guy. Smart, obviously, but also in a ‘this guys knows how to read a room’ kind of way. He’s actually pretty funny, as long as the cameras aren’t pointing at him. Plus, he treats Pepper like she’s the center of the universe and also the only perfect thing to have ever existed.”

“Sounds like _you_ have a thing for Tony.” It is conversational, but somehow Matt is even more confused.

Steve outright laughs at that. “He may be a catch, and who doesn’t want to talk up their friends? But, no. In addition to being very, very taken, he’s most definitely not my type.”

“Is that so.” He should let it lie, just let the words hang out where they fell. It is what he should do, so of course, he doesn’t. “So, what _is_ your type?”

“Competent.” The word was out of his mouth as if shot from a cannon. “As Nat says, ‘I have a competency kink a mile wide.’ That might be a little extreme, but it gets the point across.”

“You’re saying Tony Stark is incompetent?” There’s a lot to unpack here, but that part sounded the most interesting and least potentially disappointing, so it seemed like a good place to start. 

“More than you could possibly believe.” Steve laughs as he moves them through the streets, getting them closer and closer to _home_. “Again, he’s brilliant, but he’s...a big kid, really. People talking about ‘trial and error,’ forget that it intentionally isn’t called ‘trial and success.’” Steve laughs some more. “That man has cost me more than a couple pairs of eyebrows.”

“Fair enough. So…” he drags it out, “competence? Is that it?”

“No, not all. Sweet. I also like sweet. Thoughtful. Badass. “

Matt can’t help but laugh at the last one. “Badass? Is that…? I can’t believe I heard you say ‘badass.’”

“Hey, what’s wrong with badass,” Steve asks and he is _not_ pouting, _thank you._ He continues, “There’s nothing wrong with it. It’s just a specific type of competence.”

“Ok, ok, yes,” Matt answers, but he’s distracted. “There’s nothing wrong with badass. I guess I have just never thought of it like that; as a trait, let alone the type of trait one could be drawn to.”

“You ok?” The concern in Steve’s voice is evident, even around the chuckle. “You sound like you’re thinking some awful big thoughts over there. Hey, what about this? What about, you tell me yours?” He makes a noise that is suspiciously close to a giggle. “What’s your type, Matty?”

“Prone to trying to murder me.”

“I, well. Yeah. Okay, maybe that’s… disappointing. Anyway,” he drawls as he puts the car in park, “we’re here. Hold tight.”

Before he can protest, Steve is around the car and holding his door open for him. Matt just smiles up at him - “Um, thanks” - and wraps his hand back around Steve’s bicep. 

“So, what’s the plan?” Matt asks as he lets Steve lead him around the building and into the elevator. 

For his part, Steve shrugs. “No plan, just, I don’t know, doing nothing together? Unless you want to do something?”

“No,” Matt says quickly, then kind of grimaces. “I mean, no, not… I was just wondering what to expect.”

“What do you ever expect when you come over?”

“Honestly? That someone is bleeding,” he answers around a laugh. 

“Oh, well…” Steve’s voice has fallen a bit, “hopefully not that.” Then, “we’re here,” he announces unnecessarily as he pushes the door open and leads them into the apartment. 

“Hey, sweetheart, we’re back,” Steve shouts into the apartment as he pushes the door open. Lucky walks up to greet them- well, to greet Matt; he mostly ignores Steve. “Thanks, Luck, you know how to make a guy feel loved.” He turns to Matt and smiles. “Looks like you’ve been claimed.”

“Oh, hey,” Clint’s head pops up over the back of the couch and he looks across the room to Steve, who is getting their coats hung up, and perks up when he sees Matt. “Oh, heyyyyyy…” He launches himself over the back of the couch and starts walking towards them, shirtless and barefoot and wearing sweatpants that are in real danger of falling off his hips and… a fuzzy blanket wrapped around his shoulders. “You brought home a Matty. Nice.”

“Oh good, they both like you more than me,” Steve says cheerfully as he leans over to give Clint a kiss on the cheek.

“Eh, I see you all the time,” Clint explains as he wraps a hand around Matt’s arm and tugs him over to the couch, “he’s not sick of my shit yet. Plus, he’s nice to me.”

“I’m nice to you,” Steve mutters, “not sure _why_ , but I am.”

“Mm, occasionally,” Clint concedes before flopping on the couch and turning his attention back to Matt. “Anyway, what brings you here? Are you staying a while? You wanna, uh, have a seat?”

“Steve asked, I’m not sure, and uh, sure, thanks,” Matt answers, and as soon he’s finished talking, Clint is yanking him down on the sofa, so they were sitting side by side. Soon after, Lucky is sitting between his feet. 

“Well, you fellas sure look cozy,” Steve observes, “I’m gonna…” he trails off and points toward the stairs to the loft, before just heading that way. 

“Ok, have fun,” Clint calls after him. “So, I dunno what Stevie told ya, but I’m doing fuckin’ nothin’ today. Jams, blankie, couch, and cartoons.” He paused a thought a second, “I could be talked out of cartoons and into something else, but only if it’s going to be lazy.”

“He didn’t tell me much, but did say it was a lazy day.” Matt is at a total loss for what else to do or say. He has no idea what is going on here, no real clue _why_ he is here, and he is pretty sure that something is... off. Not wrong, necessarily, but not right or normal, either. He is about to just ask when Steve clomps down the stairs and lobs a soft wad of fabric at him. 

“You can’t be lazy in a suit,” Clint explains. 

“Unless you want to,” Steve is quick to tack on. “They’ll be a little big, but they’re soft and warm. Let me know if you want socks or something.”

“Um, I guess I will go change, then, uh… yeah,” Matt stammers as he gets up from the couch. 

Steve bringing him pajamas is definitely not what he expected, and is really oddly thoughtful. But, mostly, this is just really fucking weird. 

Especially when he realizes he can’t hear Steve and Clint talking. Clint may be able to mouth an entire conversation, but Steve - as far as he can tell - really only has two volumes: loud and louder. It takes a couple of seconds, but when it catches up with him, he feels more than a little stupid; they must be signing to each other. The only other option is that they are sitting in the living room not talking or watching anything or reading anything or moving hardly at all, but the thought that they could be out there, sitting still and doing nothing while they wait for him, is too far-fetched and creepy for him to entertain for long. 

“Yes, he’s just as loud with his hands.” Clint’s words - clearly directed at him - derail that terrible thought and confirm his theory. 

“Thanks for that, jerk,” he hears Steve reply. 

Matt thinks through this whole thing as he changes into the borrowed clothing. Steve’s been a little weird and a little cagey all morning. Plus, his heart’s been thundering away sort of randomly since they walked from the church to the diner, but - well - everything about Steve is loud, and Matt doesn’t know the man well enough to know what his normal sounds like. 

Clint is a whole different sort of problem. Now that Matt’s really listening for it, nothing about Clint is varied, _at all_ \- heartbeat and breath rate steady and even - and he knows Clint is a damn good sniper, but Matt’s not sure anyone is _that_ good, which means… Clint is probably masking himself, which is especially weird, if a little impressive. Even Lucky seems to know something is up. The old guy is usually plenty friendly, but he’s been all but touching Matt from the time he walked into the apartment until he entered the bathroom to change. There’s an empty clothes hanger resting on a hook mounted to the back of the door, and Matt doesn’t know if it’s for him or if it just lives there or what, but he hangs his suit up and opens the door to join the other two. 

“A Cap shirt, _Steeeeeb_? Really?” Matt hasn’t given much thought to what he is wearing, and was too lost in his own head to pay attention until he stepped out of the bathroom and heard Clint. 

“Huh,” is all he can come up with as he feels around the shield and star screen printed on the shirt. 

“Hey, it was one of the proofs Darcy wanted us to approve, and it doesn’t fit either of us.”

Clint laughs. “Have you ever met a shirt that you _actually_ thought was too tight?”

Steve shoves Clint into the arm of the couch. 

“You,” he starts as he gets up and moves to the adjacent recliner, “are an asshole, and I don’t know why I like you.”

“Good dick, nice arms, and you’re too nervous to talk to people. Speaking of, we have a Matty here. Be nice… ”

“ _Clint_.” It is a full sentence, it conveys lots even if Matt doesn’t understand most of it, and it sounds like it is forced out of Steve. 

“Matt,” Clint directs, “have a seat, and if you want the chair Steve will move. You wanna… I dunno. What do you want to do?”

But Matt doesn’t move. He doesn’t do much of anything, and he definitely does not think before he blurts, “What, uh… What the fuck is going on?”

Clint takes a deep breath. “We want to ask you if you’ll go out on a date with us, but one of us has no chill and is really bad at it.”

“ _Clint_.” This time it comes out as more of a hiss, as Steve turns bright red. At least Matt can’t _see_ his mortification, right?

No, he can’t, but he can feel Steve’s face burning from across the room, and honestly? It doesn’t help anything. _At all._ That is not how this is supposed to work: He asked a question, he got an answer, and now he should be less confused. At the moment, he is many things, but _less confused_ definitely isn’t one of them.

“Pardon me, but, uh, what?”

“Clint’s an ass, but he’s right,” Steve says with a massive sigh. “We’ve… This is really difficult.”

“No, Steve, it really isn’t,” Clint answers, before turning and focusing all of his attention on Matt. “And seriously, Steven, you ask questions like Jess drops hints."

"Right, so, I know that we - the three of us, you and I, me and Steve, and probably you and Steve - have talked about it - _us_ \- even if it has mostly been joking around or what-ifs. And there has definitely been flirting between all of us, so if...” Clint trails off, obviously uncertain for the first time in all of this, though Matt can’t not notice that his heartbeat has hardly varied _at all;_ that is terrifying, and Matt’s wondering what it says about him that he also finds it incredibly hot as Clint continues, “If we’re off base here… I’m sorry. I don’t think we are, though. Are we?”

Those last words come out so small and so fragile, and so at odds with the giant, usually goofy man that speaks them, that it makes something in Matt’s chest twist sickly. 

“I… I’m not sure I know what base we’re supposed to be on, let alone if we’re off it.” The words are accompanied by an awkward chuckle and small smile, but get no reaction. “Right, I’m still not funny. I, uh, no; I don’t think you are. I… you want to...date me?”

Steve tries and fails to suppress a surprised laugh. “Yeah, ok, I hear it now. It does sound stupid when you say it out loud.”

Clint turns and points at Steve. “I told you! Wait, I can gloat later -” He turns back to Matt - “and, really, what we actually want is more of a relationship trial run, since Captain Puppydog over there has zero chill and couldn’t find casual on a map, but that sounds fucking insane, so instead we’re trying to be something possibly resembling normal, and asking to take you out on a date.” He turns to glare at Steve as he finishes answering Matt’s question, “So, yes, that is the over simplified, teen girl way of putting it.”

“Twice a month I sit and watch romcoms with a girlfriend while we eat gummy candy and I try to paint her nails. You can’t be surprised.” 

Steve’s words are loud, but worn in a way that makes Matt realize that those two have had _this_ conversation before, and probably a lot. _This_ is part of their relationship, a part Matt hasn’t experienced before, and he is suddenly very aware of the fact that he is being _allowed_ to be a part of it now. All of this suddenly feels very intimate, but he doesn’t feel out of place or at all uncomfortable. Overwhelmed, yes, but also, maybe - just a little bit - like he is supposed to be here. 

“Matt?” Clint’s concerned voice pulls him out of his thoughts. “You with us? We need to back off or slow down or something?”

“That was Jess dropping _hints_? And…” He takes a deep breath, trying to stall or figure out the right thing to say or _something_ , but it doesn’t work because what he actually says is, “you really are ‘hella gay.’”

Clint barks a laugh as Steve makes a disgruntled sort of sound. “I still don’t know what that means.”

“Ask Jess,” Matt answers with a shrug.

“I _have_ ,” and holy shit, Steve Rogers is _whining_ , “all she ever says is ‘yeah, you are,’ like that means something.”

“Don’t,” Clint cautions Matt, “he’ll figure it out one day. Or he won’t. He’ll also sit there giggling and being weird until this stops being awkward or he dies, so, ignore it and it’ll go away.”

“I...feel like I should be offended on his behalf.”

Clint shrugs. “Suit yourself, but you’re going to be perpetually offended, if that’s the case. Maybe.” Clint shrugs again, but he’s wearing a soft smile. “Hopefully.”

A couple of long beats pass with no one saying anything before Clint can’t take it. “Look, I get it, it’s a lot. We’re a lot. Hell, Steve is a whole lot-“

He is cut off by a forlorn sounding Steve. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”

“Steven. Come _on_ , man. Later,” Clint says before turning back to focus on Matt. “Anyway. This isn’t an easy ask, and we know it. If it… If this happens, it’ll be a shit load of work an’ talking an’ all that, but… we wanna take you out on a date. _I_ want to take you on a date. Stevie sure as _shit_ wants to take you out on a date.”

Clint stops talking and his words hang in the air. The seconds tick by and not only do the words _stay_ there, looming in the room, but they seemed to grow. They just get bigger and thicker and more oppressive until Matt speaks and clears them away.

“Wait. Is that one date, or three?”

“Holy shit, no,” Clint half-whispers and half-groans. “Goddamn; two of ‘em.”

“And I keep hearing that?” Matt hopes he’s adequately conveyed that his question isn’t _if_ he’s heard it before, but _why_ they keep saying it.

“I’m not laughing at you… I asked him the same thing,” Steve manages to get out while trying to stifle laughter. “Hopefully you’ll be sayin’ it, too, before long.”

“Damn, Stevie,” Clint says appreciatively, “Matty, that is more game Steve has ever displayed. Ever and combined. You’re special.”

“Hey, that’s not fair,” Steve protests, “I got you, dinn’ I?”

“Steven, love, I am trash. You should not be proud of this.”

Steve balks at that. “Ok, now really stop that. My boyfriend may occasionally be a dick, but I won’t let anyone talk about him like that.”

“Steve,” Clint sighs, “that would be very sweet if you’d never had to fish me out of literal trash receptacles. Multiple times. I met Jessica when she found me in a dumpster, and I met Matt when I hauled him out of another. Wait, stop.” He pauses and shakes his head, like that is going to help him organize his thoughts. “I can win this stupid argument later. Fuck. Matt, I’m sorry this… may have gone a little off the rails.”

“A pair of Avengers want to take me out on a date. _Captain America_ and _Hawkeye_ want to take me on a date. And, look, yes, I know,” Matt pauses and holds his hands up, not quite in surrender, but not quite placating, either, “you say ‘Steve not Cap,’ but that does not make _you_ any less _him_.” He takes a breath and tries again, “I mean, you are not two separate entities; you can not divorce one from the other. And that is not a bad thing, it just… I don’t think this was ever ‘on the rails.’”

It takes a long tick, but it eventually dawns on Matt that he’s said something stupidly wrong, but he isn’t sure what or how it was wrong or… _‘Damn it, Murdock,’_ he berates himself, _‘find the point and_ tell them _.’_ “I mean, I do not think there is a...path - railroad, I guess - that leads _here_ , to this place, so… there was nothing to derail. I don’t think this is going poorly. I’m not sure that it is going _well_ , but - wherever this is going - we have to figure out how to get there ourselves.”

“So,” Clint drawls, “you aren’t running away screaming. That’s good. We have no idea what the hell we’re doing, which is less good, but at least we’re together on that part. Now what?”

Steve clears his throat, and starts, “Before we try and figure out where we’re going, we should maybe figure out where we are now, and see if they’re anywhere near each other?”

“Right now we’re in the weird-ass place,’” Clint supplies helpfully.

“I do not remember that in the Dr. Seuss book,” Matt snickers, but went still when neither man reacts. “‘Oh, the Places You’ll Go’? Uh, it’s a kids book. Anyway, I, uh, I’m still here? That, um, is where I am.”

“Is that a question, Matt?” Steve asks, not sure what the hell he is thinking or feeling at this point. 

“Ah, no. It is not. I’m still here. I am gonna, uh, sit down, though.” He flops down on the opposite end of the couch from Clint, and folds his legs under himself. “What about you two?”

“I’m home,” Steve says quickly. “Here. I mean. I’m here.”

“I’m by far the most easy going person in this room, I am nearly impossible to embarrass, and I brought it up,” Clint adds.

“Ok, great,” Matt says, “what the hell does that mean.”

“I…” Clint takes a deep breath, “like I said earlier, I would like for you to be part of, well, ‘us.’ I do know that is an insane thing to drop on you, and just because Steve and I have thought seriously about it, doesn’t mean you have, and expecting you to be on board with that isn’t fair. That’s how we ended up at the ‘take you out on a date’ thing. At this point, I do think I’d settle for being able to be in the same room without making you uncomfortable, though.”

“If it makes you feel better, I wouldn’t say that it is _you_ making me uncomfortable,” Matt answers, and the hair on his neck raises at the sigh Steve tries to smother. “No, Steven, not you, either. I’m uncomfortable because I don’t know what to do.” He shrugs, and gives a half smile. “Nothing to sue, nothing to hit; I’m a little lost here.”

“Yay. Another dumbass that throws themselves into trouble fist first,” Clint says dryly, “is it too late to change my mind?” 

“Clint!” The panic in Steve’s voice cuts through the room.

“Yeah, ok,” Clint says, hands raised, “that was a badly timed joke. That, uh, is part of it, though. I wasn’t joking; Steve really can’t do casual or no strings or anything, and I’ve spent enough years with him that even if I still _can_ , I don’t want to. So, that’s something for you to think about, Matty; this… this would be going somewhere, I guess. Not a ‘let’s see where it goes’ kind of thing.”

“I need to understand this,” Matt says slowly. “You two asked me on a date, but you’re actually asking me to, what, be in a three way relationship? A… triad? Trio?”

“The preferred term seems to be ‘throuple,’” Steve supplies.

“What?”

Clint snorts a laugh. “Steve’s been researching polyamory and triad relationships since about thirty seconds after you left our place that first time.”

“Hey! I did not!” Steve protests before turning to Matt. “I did not. I’m not _that_ creepy.”

It is an absolutely perfect moment. There is no noise, Steve is sitting in his chair all hunched over and pouting when Clint and Matt say at as close to the same time as makes no difference. “So you admit you are creepy?”

Well, it is perfect for anyone but Steve. For Steve it is the longest moment ever, and he hates every single thing in the universe. He heard it as he said it, but it is long past too late by then. Still, though, he’s held on to a stupid hope that they’d let it slide. Hell, at least one of them would, right? Yeah, no. Not for Steven Grant Rogers. For Steven Grant Rogers, he gets to sit before two incredible men that he - if he is being honest with himself - _loves_ while they mock him, like he isn’t sitting there watching as they lob a significant part of his _life_ and future back and forth in between them. He watches it, and lets them, and trusts that they won’t do anything to hurt it. Maybe… Yeah, okay. It is an absolutely perfect moment, even for Steven Grant Rogers.

Steve raises a shoulder and gestures to Clint. “Gotta be somethin’ wrong with me for me to wanna sign up for _that_.”

“You are also a complete slob,” Clint adds, “and that’s coming from a carnie.”

“Helpful. Thank you, Clinton,” Steve says primly. 

“You’re welcome. I’m always happy to stall, especially if it helps Matt look less like he’s about to hurl.”

“I, uh, oh! Sorry,” Matt stammers, “are you always so, uh…” He gestures between them as he trails off.

Clint gives a definitive “Yes!” as Steve asks “What?”

“Yeah. Nope. I’ve got this one, Love,” Clint says to Steve, and Matt really hopes his blush isn’t as visible as it feels. “Steven is the single noisiest thing in the universe.”

“Now, that’s just inaccurate,” Steve counters, sounding a little wounded.

“Ok, fine. But, Steve talks more than any human ever has, and hopefully, ever will.”

Matt smirks and turns to Steve, who just shrugs. “That one might be… accurate.”

“Seriously,” Clint agrees, “it is something you should actually probably consider. He’s great and all, but he never shuts up. I’m not sure how sensitive your senses actually are - which is something else we have to talk about; you’ve gotta be able to trust us with that, or think you can get to a point where you can - but, it’s a thing, and it could be an issue.”

“An issue,” Matt repeats, “I think you’ve thought up a list of issues.”

“Yeah. It’s long,” Clint confirms. 

“Well, this got a whole lot less fun,” Steve says, “but, ah, I’ve got a couple, too.”

“Sounds like we’ve got a lot to get through, so we should probably get started.” Matt didn’t have any specific plans for today, but he knows none of them involved relationship negotiations. He isn’t exactly upset about it, though. Honestly, he isn’t sure _what_ he is, at the moment. 

“I guess the big ones are… Secrets are a thing. A big one. We don’t…” Clint stares at the ceiling, and sighs when the words he’s looking for don’t magically appear. “Why you’re in a pissy mood isn’t a secret. Why I missed dinner and then was radio silent for three days is. Unless it’s because I’m pissy, then it’s not a secret and I’m being a dick. That said, there is no expectation of privacy between me and Nat. If one of us knows, just assume the other does. Neither of us will tell, so it isn’t really an issue. There is also no expectation of privacy between Steve and literally anyone, because he can’t keep a secret to save his fucking life.”

“Again, that’s just inaccurate,” Steve huffs, “I’m _bad_ at it, but I can. And only personally. I’m good with work stuff.”

“Steve, if you tried to make a Venn diagram of your friends, family, and coworkers, it would be a circle. Not telling people things they already know is not keeping a secret.” 

Again, Clint’s words have a well-worn quality about them, and to Matt, they feel a whole lot like the borrowed pajamas he’s wearing; something special and even a little intimate is being shared with him, and now he knows it’s because they want him to be a part of it , and… like everything else today, it is a whole lot.

“Matty? Uh, Matt?” Steve’s voice manages to cut through Matt’s thoughts and pull him back to the present. 

“Yeah, sorry. Just… wool-gathering.” _Wool-gathering?_ That’s what you went with, Matt?

Clint turns to Matt and frowns. “Wool-gathering?”

“Dilly-dallying,” Steve answers, like it was any sort of answer. 

“What? Isn’t that when you are going somewhere and stop and do a bunch of other shit on the way?”

“Clint, I don’t know what the hell that is,” Steve says, exasperation ringing through the words, “Matty…” He stops to clear his throat awkwardly. “Uh, Matt was lost in thought. As opposed to now, where he’s probably just lost.”

“Do you, um -” Matt tilts his head to one side, then the other, not sure what the hell to do or say or think - “Do you always do this? That? Whatever?”

“Yes,” Clint answers simply. “I’d list it as an issue, but you’re a lawyer so I’m guessing you’re good with arguing. Which is good, because our arguments turn into other arguments. And a lot of the time we will end up arguing about some side point of the original argument.”

“Our conversations take the scenic route.” Steve seems oddly proud of himself.

“Steven.” Clint’s tone isn’t _friendly_ , but it doesn’t carry any heat, either. “That, see? This is how our tangents end up on tangents. You say goofy shit, and I feel obligated to point it out. Because it’s goofy. And now we’re doing it in front of Matt and we’re supposed to be impressing him or something.”

That catches Matt off guard. “Wait, you’re nervous?”

“I… yes?” Clint is so confused by Matt’s question, and can’t help but stare at the man. “Why _wouldn’t_ I be? I’m approaching this super awesome guy with an absolutely bug-fuck insane proposition. One that might, to make it _better_ , potentially explode the only successful relationship I’ve had - and my standards for success are ‘didn’t try to kill me’ - and if this gets real weird, we still kinda hafta work together, plus the whole thing where you saved my brother-in-law’s life.”

“The work you did for Bucky,” Steve supplies after seeing Matt’s confused expression. “He’s not literally, but, close enough.”

“Twice over, but that’s a whole different thing,” Clint cut in, not wanting to have to stop and explain the weird _Avengers Family Shrub._ That is something he’s planning to save until after Matt’s been with them for a while, and has decided he likes them; hopefully that’ll make it harder for him to run away screaming when he figures out that the Avengers are actually more of a freakishly close and very bossy family than an actual team. “Yes, I’m nervous. I am pretty sure I’m supposed to be. You’ve obviously never heard Steve talk about you. He makes you sound so great anyone’d be nervous.”

“Thank you, Clinton,” Steve says dryly, but his face is bright red, “that’s helpful.”

“Oh, stop,” Clint replies, “you almost swallowed your tongue the first time you saw him, and you kept us up another two hours after they left talking about him. Jess almost socked you again because you wouldn’t stop staring at him, and we now know he can at least hear through the walls in our apartment, so he heard everything we said about it. And _that_ was _months ago._ Between that and your weird church dates, and with all the time we’ve been spending with the dumpster squad, you haven’t been given any _less_ to moon over.”

“Wait, what?” Matt asks, incredulous. 

“Absolutely not.” Clint turns his attention to Matt, and - right now, at least - it is _intense,_ though not at all angry. “You do not get to do the confused puppy thing. You know about at least that first night, and - considering Steve somehow possesses less subtlety than he does chill - there is no way you haven’t noticed.”

Matt starts to protest, but Clint cuts him off.

“Nope, you not recognizing it or misinterpreting it isn’t my problem… yet, I guess. And before you start on _me;_ yes, I flirt with everyone, it’s fun and it makes people happy, but I don’t make a habit of sitting shoulder to shoulder with folks as we swing our feet off a rooftop, and I definitely don’t invite them back to my place to drink my good booze. I worked hard to steal that.”

“Speaking of, I would very much like a drink. Right now.” Matt pushes himself off the couch and makes his way to the kitchen cabinet he knows holds their liquor, grabs a glass, and gives himself a generous pour of some sort of whiskey. He doesn’t know what it is - doesn’t _want_ to know what it is - he just knows that there is no seam on the bottle that he can feel, and that more than anything let’s him know that this is expensive and that it was stolen from Tony Stark. 

“I’d offer to make you one, but I can’t tell cans apart without opening them.”

Steve gets up to make Clint a drink - Royal Crown and Crown Royal; taking a sip of the cola and topping off with whiskey - but something about what Matt said, or maybe how he said it, makes Steve pause. “How does it work?”

Matt straightens and sets his glass down. “Um, my eyes don’t work, my ears do?” He shrugs. It isn’t something Matt’s spent too much time thinking about; it just is, and he can’t change it, so his efforts are better spent figuring out how to make the most of it. 

“Naw,” Steve drawls as he pulls a can of cola out of the fridge, “that explains Clint. Maybe.”

Clint flops sideways on the couch and buries his head in the cushions and mumbles out, “damn it, Steeb. Matty, you don’t have to answer, no matter what nosy over there says.”

“Hey, Clint,” Steve calls, and as soon as he sees Clint’s face pop up over the back of the couch he puts the freshly made drink to his lips, and drinks it all down in one, long swallow. 

“I don’t know what you think you accomplished. I didn’t ask for it and I didn’t particularly want it,” Clint says in response before collapsing back down on the couch. “I’m trying to - fuck - I dunno; be an adult. Have a real conversation here. Try and talk Matt into sticking around, though I’m not sure we should want to trust anyone that sticks around for this shit show.”

“I like it,” Matt says easily. He’s not sure if he’s still part of the conversation or not, but it’s about him, so, what the hell. It makes as much sense to him as anything else that has happened today. 

Steve looks over and grins at him. “Me, too.”

“I’m glad someone does,” Clint mumbles from the couch.

“You love it, and you’re being an ass,” Steve replies, leaning his hip against the counter and crossing his arms.

“Hungry, rapidly approaching bitchy about it,” Clint answers as he rearranges himself so he’s sitting up with his chin resting on the back of the couch. “You ready for second breakfast, Bilbo?”

“Little late for that, Radagast,” the big blonde replies, “we’re on to elevenses, maybe even luncheon.”

“Food, Steve,” Clint grumbles, “I’m hungry and I know you are, too.”

“But we-“ Matt starts, but Clint cuts him off.

“I am sure Steve ordered what seemed like a lot of food,” he explains, “but Steve eats everything. Constantly. When we eat at home, he’ll go to town on a full meal. Even when we get take-out, we’ll basically buy the place out, but never _at_ restaurants because it’s weird.”

“You don’t have to eat,” Steve explains, “and it wasn’t a problem getting food after church. He,” he hooks a thumb at Clint, “was still asleep, and we usually eat together when I got home. Just… uh, had a you with me when I got here.”

“DO NOT apologize, Matty,” Clint says sharply, when he sees Matt open his mouth to apologize.

“Clint, be nice. Matty… Matt, you’re fine,” Steve quickly tries to explain, “We’re glad you’re here, but, ah…”

“But?” Matt waits as long as he possibly can to let Steve finish his thought, but he found himself spiraling pretty quickly as all the ways that thought could end flashed through his mind.

“Is it alright? I mean, that we call you Matty?”

It is. Pretty much everyone calls him Matty, anyway, but they were the first to ask. “Um, yes. Why wouldn’t it be?”

Clint shrugs. “Some people are weird about nicknames.”

“Just like some people are weird about pet names,” Steve says, and it sounds very… _pointed._

“I’m not weird about pet names, Steven ,” Clint answers, “I even use one. Sometimes. When it’s applicable.”

“Again, that’s just wrong,” Steve says in an almost singsong type way. “You have lots of little pet names for me. Jackass. Dickweasel. Oh, you also call me ‘heathen.’ A lot, actually.”

Clint sighs. “I only call you a heathen when you bite into an entire Kit-Kat. Because that is shit a heathen does. Maybe a monster, too. So, there’s a new one.”

“What’s the one you call him,” Matt asks, and immediately regrets it. That’s a fairly personal question, and they aren’t there yet. Well, he doesn’t think they are, but he’s also not 100 percent sure where they are.

“He calls me ‘Love,’” Steve answers. “He can be really sweet on occasion.”

“I’m not, he’s lying,” Clint protests. “Now do you want food or am I just making myself something?”

Instead of answering Clint, Steve turns to Matt. “So, I know Jess has told me it’s ‘creepy,’ but I don’t really know what that means. How good is your sense of smell?”

“You’re milk’s bad,” Matt offers.

“What?” Steve sounds alarmed as he opens the refrigerator, “I bought it last night.”

“Thanks, Matty,” Clint huffs, “it’s probably mine. Check the jug of coconut creamer.”

Both men turned toward Clint with matching confused expressions. 

“I hide my untainted milk there,” Clint says with a sigh. “Steve drinks from the carton - which is fucking disgusting - and he doesn’t like the coconut creamer, so… I hide my milk in there. Apparently it’s gone bad. Also, yeah, I can see how that could be kinda creepy.”

“Definitely means you don’t want Clint cooking,” Steve agrees.

Clint lobs a soft foam ball at Steve, and it bonks him on the temple. “Oh, fuck off. I may not be like you, the second coming of Guy Fieri or whatever, but I’m not a bad cook.”

“I - what? Guy Fieri?” Steve isn’t upset, Guy seemed like a fun, well, guy, and he was enthusiastic about food, which Steve loves, but that is an odd comparison to make. “What the hell?”

“Oh, hey, look! A distraction,” Clint says enthusiastically before turning his attention to Matt, “and that’s how you redirect a Steeb.”

“Okay, well, good to know. And yes, you can call me Matty.” Everything in Matt’s Brain is screaming at him about saying “can” instead of “may,” but he doesn’t want it to sound like _permission_ , even though that’s exactly what it was. “And, um, how much do you eat?”

Clint chuckles to himself. “Quick study.”

“Mmhmm,” Steve agrees. “Between five and eight thousand calories a day. More if I’m healing or excessively active.”

“It’s fun,” Clint says as he throws himself over the back of the couch and pads over to lean on the counter next to the over two. “He also doesn’t sleep, so there’s that.”

“Stop that,” Steve huffs, but moves to gather the ingredients for Clint’s breakfast and his elevenses. “I do sleep, just not much. Usually. Again, more after a big fight or when I’m healing.”

“Steve sleeps three or four hours a day, on average,” Clint says, and his voice goes a little sour, “the most I’ve seen him go was about 18 hours with sedation and 12 without.”

For the first time, Matt hears Clint’s heartbeat speed up, just a bit, and his breaths get shorter. “That sounds… like a story.”

“That’s a ‘been together for a minute’ kind of story, sorry,” Clint shrugs, “I want to make some joke about not exposing my emotions before exposing myself, but, in my head, they all make me sound like a creeper, so, whatever. We’re not there. Yet. Maybe.”

“You’re rambling, Dear,” Steve says as he kisses Clint’s temple and shoos him out of the way, “and you always sound like a creeper. Good job.”

“I love you from hell to breakfast, you goblin,” Clint grits out.

Steve chuckles at the perplexed expression on Matt’s face. “That is one of our rules,” he explains, “we, uh, don’t say we hate things unless we actually hate them, and no matter what he says, Clint doesn’t actually hate me, so he can’t say it.”

“So I told him I love him,” Clint adds, glaring at Steve, “to remind myself.”

"The _hate_ thing?" Matt tilts his head at Steve, “is that why Jess said, 'I don’t _hate_ him, but the regular comparison to his touted virtues was used to make me feel worthless.' when I asked if she hated you?"

"We had a long talk…” Steve trails off, before tacking on, “The Notebook is a terrible movie."

"Uh-huh. What?” Matt is pretty sure he’s missed something, but he’s not sure what. 

Clint chimes in on this one, “Other rule: don’t tell secrets that aren’t yours. Only exceptions are if someone is in immediate danger, or it involves me or Nat.”

Matt shrugs, “I’m still stuck on the whole ‘Steve made Jess use big words’ thing.”

“Alright now, be nice. She knows big words.” Steve pauses and thinks about it for a second before adding, “dumbass and bitch are just her favorites.”

“I think ‘dumbass’ counts as a big word. Seven whole letters,” Clint points out. 

“Six,” Matt corrects, smirking when he feels Clint’s glare. “It’s only six letters. Seven characters.”

“Livin’ up to those lawyer stereotypes, aye, Murdock?” Clint asks dryly. 

“Well,” Matt answers, “I _am_ a lawyer.”

Clint looks from Steve to Matt and back to Steve. “I want to hit him with the squishy ball. Can I hit him with the squishy ball?” He doesn’t bother waiting for Steve to answer before he turns to Matt, “can I hit you with the squishy ball? Because I would really like to.”

“I don’t know what the squishy ball is,” Matt says tentatively, “and yes you _can_ , but, maybe, please don’t.”

“Here,” Steve pulls the ball in question - a light, soft foam stress relief toy about the size of a tennis ball - out of his pocket and hands it to Matt, “this is the squishy ball. We occasionally throw it at each other, usually when someone’s being annoying or obnoxious. There’s only one, and you can’t throw it until it is thrown at you.”

“You can’t steal it,” Clint clarifies. “If I threw it at Steve and he left it in his pocket all day, I couldn’t just dig it out to throw at him. So I can’t just pelt him with ‘em.”

A whole bunch of expressions flickered across Matt’s face before settling on what could best be called ‘bewildered.’ “Would you want to?”

“Always,” Clint answers with a chuckle, but quickly adds, “but also no, not at all.”

“So, you two just throw things at each other? When you’re annoyed?” Matt is trying very hard not to be judgemental, but this just sounds weird. 

“Not…” Steve looks for the right words, but doesn’t find them. “...like that,” he ends with a frown.

“It’s like saying ‘I hate you’ thing,” Clint explains. “Kinda, I guess. It isn’t a...it...no violence when you're mad or upset or whatever. If you gotta, then you go train. Steve murders punching bags, I usually go poke holes in things, sometimes spar with Tash. But, no, I don’t hit Steve. He doesn’t hit me. No hitting.”

“Also not true,” Steve says, and Clint wants to melt into the floor.

“Now is not the time, Steven,” Clint answers tersely, “let’s… we’re getting ahead of ourselves.”

“I mean, it’s something to talk about,” Steve counters.

“Wait,” Matt cuts in, effectively ending their back-and-forth. “So, you _do_ hit each other?”

Clint glares at Steve, who’s become intensely focused on his cooking, before answering, “Fuck me, I’m going to go hide in a dumpster. Shit. Anyway, on, uh… _special_ occasions, special _thoroughly discussed in advance_ occasions, in a controlled setting, with _multiple_ safeguards in place and explicit and enthusiastic consent given before and repeatedly during, one of us _may_ intentionally inflict pain on the other. Often through collision of one or more body parts of one person with the hand or an object held therein by the other.”

Matt can feel the heat radiating off Clint’s face, and it throws him for a minute, until he realizes he’s never experienced an embarrassed Clint Barton. He didn’t know it was _possible_ to embarrass Clint Barton. “Clinton,” he says easily, “why are you embarrassed?”

“Not about sex,” Clint replies quickly, wanting it clear that isn’t his concern, “but I would really rather not let anyone know what we get up to. Yes, it is absolutely something that would be discussed - again, thoroughly - before ever doing _anything_ , but I’m still not sure we’re even going to _get_ there.”

“Do you want to?”

And, ok, Clinton Francis Barton is good at reading people. Extremely so. Honestly, second behind the fucking Black Widow herself, and maybe third behind Coulson, but that’s debatable. That said, he was at an absolute loss when it came to Matt Murdock right now, standing in his kitchen, wearing their clothes, asking if Clint wanted… honestly, the specifics don’t really matter; the answer is as close to a blanket _yes_ as Clint can imagine himself ever giving anyone. “Yes.”

“Ok,” Steve stops what he’s doing to address Matt, “Clint is... _we_ \- are weird. If it hadn’t come up today, it would eventually, when we got there; like Clint said. You can relax your eyebrows, we weren’t keeping anything from you, and I probably should have kept my mouth shut, but I didn’t, and…”

“Don’t dance around it, Steve,” Clint says frankly, “‘m not forthcoming with information. I share what’s needed, when it’s relevant. I’ve been told it can be rough to deal with. In this case, though, I don’t actually think it is a problem that I wasn’t going to share details of our sex life with someone not involved in it.” He glares at Steve again, for good measure.

“It’s a spy thing,” Steve adds, “you get used to it, but it can still be hard to deal with. That is a separate issue, though. Is, uh, _that_ , um, alright with you.”

Is it? Matt certainly isn’t a prude, though he hasn’t engaged in anything nearly as structured or involved as what Clint had talked about. Sure, things with Elektra had gotten rough occasionally… ok, _often,_ but that was… different. Entirely. He knows about kink; everyone does, but he has to admit that he’s surprised that _Steve_ would be into it. Sure, Steve and Clint snipe at each other, but the thought of someone who is so… not to wax poetic about it, but _achingly tender_ is about the only way to describe how Steve talks about his boyfriend would ever be… aggressive? ...violent? Something in that general vicinity, towards someone he loved. Then again, he’s also never had sex with a man, or with two people before, so it was really just _another_ new concept for him. “Honestly, I don’t know. What happens if it isn’t?”

“Nothing,” Steve answers.

Clint glances at Steve then back to Matt. “It’s fine, as long as… ok, this is assuming _this_ goes anywhere, it’s fine as long as you are alright with us still doing it. You don’t have to be involved if you don’t want, just, ok with us doing our own thing occasionally. The same way I am fine with your weird church dates and Steve will be fine with whatever it is you and I find to do together.” He pauses before adding, “that isn’t work.”

His words hit Matt just right, and it finally dawns on him how serious they are about this. It’s an odd feeling, knowing they’ve discussed him, and _them_ , at length, but he also absolutely understands the concept of situational secrets - God knows he has enough of his own - and finds that here, in this particular instance, it doesn’t bother him. “You have really put a lot of thought into this.”

Pointing at Steve, Clint says, “man with the plan.” He points to himself, “man who really doesn’t like to do things that’ll leave him with his bare ass exposed.”

“Fair enough,” Matt says, “I do have a follow up question.”

“Oh,” Clint asks.

“Wait,” Steve cuts in, “you’re messing with us. You flicked sugar at me at breakfast. I… I commented on it and everything.”

Matt gives the toy in his hand a squeeze. “Yes, and also no. Now that I know what it is? Yes, I was totally fucking with you. Before, when I thought you just pegged each other with tennis balls or something? Especially with how strong you both are? That is actually pretty alarming.”

“You flicked sugar at Steve? Like, a packet?” Clint asks, and when Matt nods, he adds, “nice.”

“Nice. Sure,” Steve gripes. “What, uh, what’s your question, Matty? Before I go outta my skull over here.”

“Huh? Oh… Now that all the heavy lifting is done, the weight is off everyone's shoulders, what is the plan? Movie? Dinner? Parkour on the Brooklyn bridge? Really, I'm up for anything that doesn't end with me on fire." Matt chuckles. "Or dancing. I- My coordination fails me on the dance floor."

“You and Steve have so much in common,” Clint deadpans.

Steve shoots a glare at Clint before focusing on Matt, “what do you mean, Matty?”

“For the date. Jess says I am the embodiment of that song? _Evacuate the Dance Floor?_ I _like_ it, but I dance like Jess hints and - apparently - like you do subtle.”

The smile on Clint’s face is so bright, it could light all of Madison Square Garden. “No foolin’, Matty?” When Matt just nods again, the big man walks right up to him. “I’m gonna hug you now, if that’s ok.” 

A brief look of confusion flashes across his face before he stammers out, “um, yes,” and then he is nothing short of _engulfed_ by the big man.

“Can I get in on that, too,” Steve asks tentatively, and as soon as he hears the “yes” Matt mumbles into Clint’s collarbone, he’s got his arms around the both of them. 

They stay like that for a while, until Steve remembers he was in the middle of cooking and returns to that before it becomes a problem. 

“Ok, back to food,” he says. “But, when can we take ya out, Matt?”

Clint turns and budges up behind Matt, resting his hands on the smaller man’s shoulders and quietly asks, “this ok?” When he receives a small nod in answer, he rests his chin on the top of Matt’s head. 

“Now?” He asks with a shrug. “Isn’t that what this is, now that everyone’s intentions are clear?”

Clint burrows his smile in Matt’s hair and is trying very hard not to laugh. Watching Steve go up against a fellow pedant - and a _lawyer_ , no less - is going to be a lot of fun. 

“Thank you counselor,” Steve answer, “but we specified ‘out’ on a date.”

“Yeah,” Clint agrees, “and our first date isnt gonna be here. I’ve got a foolproof first date. 100% success rate.”

“What does… yeah, what does that mean?” Matt asks. 

“Everyone I know that’s followed the plan has had a successful first date. Successful being that it turned out the way they wanted. It has also led to a series of long, happy, stable relationships. Like this one,” he tilts his head to Steve. “And two of my sisters used it for their new beaus.”

Steve shoots Clint a quizzical look, but Clint ignores it, while Matt asks, “you have sisters?”

Clint laughs. “Several. They’re terrifying. I can’t wait for you to meet them.”

“After you’ve been around a while. When you like us and it’ll be harder to walk away,” Steve specifies. “He’s not wrong about them being fucking terrifying.”

“Okay, that is totally reassuring,” Matt says. “What is this amazing date?”

“Cataldo’s pizza and a walk,” Clint says.

It is the middle of January, and Matt doesn’t see how that could be terribly pleasant. “It is literally freezing out.”

“All the better, Steve is very warm,” Clint drawls, and there’s a new something thrumming in his voice. He follows that up, voice back to normal, “and if the weather’s really shit, we’ll just take you for a walk in the greenhouse.”

“What’s the greenhouse?” Matt asks.

“Pot farm,” Steve answers, but Clint waves that off.

“Only, like, a third of it is a pot farm. The rest is an actual greenhouse, but on _Tony Stark Needs Many Hugs_ juice.”

“I… still have no idea what that means,” Matt says, a little helplessly. He isn’t sure if they have that many inside jokes or if Clint just speaks in his own language most of the time.

“Tony goes out of his way to do things for his friends and family to show them he cares,” Steve explains, “and maybe a little bit trying to buy affection, but I think we’ve mostly gotten him past believing that he needs to do that for us to like him. His insecurities usually manifest as ridiculous gifts.”

“Oh.” That is definitely not what Matt was expecting, but it does not surprise him. “Um, the date sounds great. What about tomorrow?”

Clint squeezes his shoulders again and answers for both of them. “Works for us.”

They iron out plans and set times while Steve finishes cooking, and then spend the rest of the day doing nothing, but doing it together. It’s late evening when Matt changes back into his suit and starts to head home. As soon as he’s out of the apartment he pulls out his phone to message Jess.

**[Red:** _You are going to need to call Rand if you need help tomorrow._ **]**

He doesn’t get very far before his phone lets him know she has replied. 

**[JJ:** _what did you do and how bad are you hurt???_ **]**

**[Red: __**_Nothing and not. I have a date._ **]**

Matt smiles to himself and slides his phone in his pocket as he makes his way back to his place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What’s Jessica up to when she’s not babysitting these idiots? Check out Sep’s amazing [Kaffeeklatch](%E2%80%9C)

**Author's Note:**

> For more on the story behind Nat & Bucky, [go here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25430032/chapters/61674001). 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading. 
> 
> Please take care of yourself.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[ART] People as Places as People](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28447053) by [NotTheBlue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotTheBlue/pseuds/NotTheBlue)




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